


Conquest Of Spaces

by mooyani, Ziggy_Quill_Blackstarlord



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Anal, Angst, Depression, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Established Relationship, Finn is not a naive baby, First Kiss, First Order, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Poe hurts so pretty, Post-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Reconditioning, Smut, Switching, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 02:42:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6497665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mooyani/pseuds/mooyani, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ziggy_Quill_Blackstarlord/pseuds/Ziggy_Quill_Blackstarlord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <br/>
    <i>I'm ready to start the conquest of spaces</i>
    <br/>
    <i>Expanding between you and me</i>
    <br/>
    <i>Come with the night the science of fighting</i>
    <br/>
    <i>The forces of gravity</i>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </p>
</div>After a black ops mission goes south, Finn is captured and reprogrammed by the First Order. Poe takes great risks to bring him home and back to himself, but is Finn too far gone?
            </blockquote>





	1. Drifting Away From Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seventypercentwater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventypercentwater/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe is sent on a deadly mission after Finn receives information from a former colleague, indicating the alleged whereabouts of Captain Phasma.

“All right, I’m going low. Com silence.”

“Copy that, Commander.”

Poe tilted his controls to begin his descent. Below him stretched a snowy mountain range, treacherous and jagged, nearly disappearing in the falling snow.

*****

For months now, Finn had been helping the Resistance by offering any and all info he could scrape from his memory. He helped coordinate scouting missions on every First Order base he knew the location of, and for a few months the information had panned out. They had taken out several smaller outposts, intercepted supplies en route to larger ones, and gained significant intel on how the First Order functioned. Lately, though, there had been nothing but dead ends. 

Until three weeks before Poe’s latest mission. Finn had received a coded transmission sent directly to him, for his eyes only. A transmission using code known only to three people. One was Finn. The other had died on Jakku, his last act reaching out to his friend as he bloodied his helmet at Lor San Tekka’s hut.

Finn immediately showed the transmission to the leaders of the Resistance. Leia, at first, was pensive, quiet, trying not to show her opinion on the matter before the rest of the leadership spoke. Ackbar was uncharacteristically silent. 

It was Admiral Statura who spoke first.

“How can you trust this information, Finn?” He asked, skepticism clear in his voice.

“The three of us, we came up together, sir,” Finn said. “Taken at the same time by the Order. Indoctrinated together. Trained together. We...we fought together. Even...we’d talked about leaving together. But after what happened back on Jakku I never thought I’d hear from him again.”

“It could be a ruse,” Leia said. “You’re a wanted man. The Order wants to make an example out of you. Everyone in the galaxy knows it. The Stormtrooper who turned on Kylo Ren himself, the Stormtrooper who helped destroy Starkiller Base.” 

Leia paused, giving the young man a hard look.

“Like it or not, Finn -- the entire galaxy knows who you are.”

“General, that’s just the thing. I -- the three of us, we were separated for the first time months ago. The last thing I knew, he was serving on Starkiller Base. So many troops were left for dead by the Order that day. He must have realized what was happening and escaped. I think he’s genuine.”

“And what makes you think he’s not being used as a pawn to draw you out?” Ackbar asked, finally. “What if he’s been compromised? Or worse, forced to give the Order any information he had on you? Maybe even disposed of afterwards?”

Finn sighed. “Because of the final part of the message, sir.”

Leia looked at the message again. “‘No luck,’” she read. “‘Just skill.’ I don’t understand, Finn.”

“The three of us -- we didn’t believe in luck. None of us did. Our lives were hell, General. But we had been given the skills we needed to survive in the world we found ourselves in. The three of us -- it was our private slogan. We never shared it with anyone. Not once.”

“He still could have been compromised,” Ackbar chimed in. 

“Or worse,” Statura added, “The things we’re hearing, about how they’re treating suspected traitors these days...it’s barbaric. Would he give it all up? For a chance to survive? Would he give up his friend?”

“I don’t believe he ever could,” Finn replied. “It’s impossible.”

Leia sighed. 

“Finn, the Admirals and I will discuss this in private, then get back to you. If Captain Phasma really is where your friend --”

“FN-2046,” Finn said.

“--if Phasma really is where FN-2046 says she is, then this could be a huge victory for the Resistance.”

The leadership debated for weeks, sometimes long into the night. Trusting the message allegedly sent from FN-2046 would be a huge gamble. Some Stormtroopers, inspired by Finn, had left the Order and become everything from cantina owners to bounty hunters and everything in between. One or two were even being vetted as Resistance pilots. And those were just the ones who were able to get away.

Twenty days had passed since Finn had brought the message to General Organa and the others. There had been no news, and Finn was a mess. 

He woke up that night to find Poe sitting up in bed next to him, unable to sleep, just looking at Finn with concern.

“You were tossing and turning, talking in your sleep..” he said, hanging his head.

Finn winced. He had been doing his best to hide his nerves from Poe during the days, but when he went to sleep all his defenses dropped.

“What’s taking them so long, Poe?” Finn asked, pushing himself up so he was sitting as well.

“I don’t know. Statura is incredibly firm in his convictions. He never budges. Ackbar and the General have known each other for so long that they can easily find middle ground. I hope that whatever happens --”

“Poe.”

Poe looked toward Finn, who was staring at him with big, unblinking eyes.

“Just hold me. Help me sleep.”

Poe smiled.

“Yeah,” he said, biting his lip. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Just as Poe wrapped his arms around Finn, a familiar noise emitted from a console on the other side of the room, and Finn bolted out of bed.

“Finn, wait --” Poe said.

But Finn was already at the comm relay before Poe could finish his thought.

“FN-2187,” the readout said. “We have three days. The project is almost done. Phasma moves out when it’s complete. Please, please advise. We’ve wasted enough time as it is. FN-2046. No luck, all skill.”

****

The Resistance leadership settled things just a few hours later. The accelerated timetable of the completion of Phasma’s “project”, whatever it was, meant business. Statura bent, and agreed to a black ops mission. 

A repurposed cargo ship, secretly filled with X-Wings and and a team of Resistance pilots ready to go at the drop of a hat, would make the jump into the Trans-Hydian Borderlands. The Borderlands had recently been occupied fully by the Order after Starkiller Base’s obliteration of the Hosnian system, the Republic’s main seat of power.

The team would pose as unaligned refugees from Hosnian Prime, trying to find a new home in the Borderlands. Cautiously, they’d make their way to the coordinates that FN-2046 had provided Finn with: one of the frozen deserts on the planet Elom. Once there, a single X-Wing, piloted by the team’s best flyer, would drop down to the surface to verify or debunk 2046’s message, and tell the others how to proceed from there.

Of course, Poe Dameron would be that man, and this didn’t sit well with Finn.

“Does it have to be you?” Finn asked, sitting on their bed.

“Why?” Poe asked in his cocky fashion. “Worried I can’t do it? I thought I was ‘one hell of a pilot.’”

Finn frowned. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it, Poe. I just -- ”

“If you’re being played, you don’t want me to suffer for it.” Poe sat down on the bed next to Finn and put his arm around him. “Look, I get it. I understand that. You don’t think stuff like this hasn’t happened before?”

“No, I just -- I don’t want _you_ to --”

Poe nodded silently.

“I get it,” he said. “You’re worried because it’s me. If it was Jessika they were sending in for recon, or Snap, would you be as concerned? I need you to think about this, Finn, because if your doubts are about me coming back home to you, that’s one thing. But if you’re worried about the legitimacy of the intel, that’s another.”

Finn buried his head in Poe’s shoulder.

“I...I don’t know.”

Poe put his other arm around Finn and pulled him in tighter.

“Finn...if you have any doubts… _real_ doubts, beyond _me_ doing this thing...you need to tell the General, now.”

Finn didn’t say anything as he dug his head further into Poe’s shoulder. He turned his head and kissed Poe’s neck, softly at first, then hungrily, trailing his hands over the older man’s torso.

“You make sure you stay alive,” he whispered against his skin, getting soft moans in return. He put a strong hand on Poe’s chest and pushed him back onto the bed, crawling on top of him. He leaned down, his teeth grazing Poe’s earlobe, hoping the pilot was distracted enough to miss the tears welling in his eyes.

“I’m not losing you to this war, Dameron.”

In ten hours, Poe and the rest of his team would be leaving for the Borderlands, heading for Elom, hoping that Finn’s intel was legitimate, that they’d get the drop on Phasma, that they’d be welcomed home as heroes.

But in a galaxy steadily losing freedom at an alarming rate, nothing could be taken as a certainty.

*********

The cargo ship, donated to General Organa by Maz Kanata years earlier, was older than dirt, and the oxygen aboard had an almost physically palpable quality. It stuck to Poe’s skin like a light sheet of plastic. Everything felt stark. Industrial. Recycled. For whatever reason, it reminded Poe of being stared down by Kylo Ren as a captive of the First Order. 

He stood on the ramp of the ship, having just brought his belongings -- a few changes of clothes and a book that Jessika had loaned him -- into the ship and canvassing the small quarters he had been given. He wasn’t expecting a fancy Senator’s quarters, but he also wasn’t expecting a bedroom the size of a Jawa.

He stood on the ramp with the four other Resistance fighters who had been selected to go on the mission. Snap was there, of course. The other three were a little green, but Poe had a good feeling about them. 

One was a gifted if cocky young Dug pilot named Arla Hala, the goddaughter of Admiral Ackbar. Arla was a drinker, but she drank because she’d found no other way to cope with her PTSD, having watched her parents burned alive by First Order firetroopers at eight years old for daring to pass information about Supreme Commander Snoke to the Resistance. Arla Hala didn’t fall asleep, not ever. She couldn’t sleep. The insomnia had claimed her as its own the moment she saw her parents fall. So no, she didn’t sleep. She drank until she was unconscious. So far, it hadn’t been a problem, in fact, when she didn’t drink and was charged with all-night monitor duty, she’d saved hundreds of Resistance lives, all told. Poe thought maybe, if she could deal with her psychological damage, she could one day outpace him as the Resistance’s best pilot.

The Corellian man, Razer Whit, didn’t speak a lot, and he didn’t have to. He was tall, dark and handsome, but he was no Han Solo, that’s for sure. His face told a different story than that of the General Organa’s late ex-husband. Razer Whit wasn’t a man who got by on his charms, for he had no charms to get by on. He was a brawler, heavily scarred from head to toe. He scoffed whenever he was offered a blaster, a baton, a knife or any kind of weapon. When killing First Order soldiers, he fought them with his greatest asset: his deadly hands. Poe had seen Razer in combat and was suitably impressed. He made a mental note to keep his patented sarcasm in check when alone with Razer.

And then finally, and perhaps most controversially, was the thirty-four year old woman from Eridau. When she heard about Rey’s part in the destruction of Starkiller Base, she sought out and joined the Resistance as fast as she could, inspired and empowered by the story of the young woman from Jakku who had nothing and fought for everyone. The General, at first, was suspect, given the woman’s familial history, but the new recruit had, time and again, proved herself a powerful force for the Resistance, and it became clear very quickly: though they shared a name and a bloodline, Scylla Tarkin had nothing in common with her great-uncle.

So Poe, Snap, Arla, Razer and Scylla stood on the ramp in front of the members of the Resistance who had chosen to see them off. Ackbar pulled Arla aside to speak with her, but the private conference turned into a public embrace before too long. Jessika spoke briefly with both Poe and Snap, wishing them good luck, telling them both “May the Force be with you.” Jessika began to speak to Razer, who shifted his gaze to her and began to glare, grunting once. She quieted herself and instead gave him a thumbs up, which he returned with a bemused smirk. Leia came up to each of them, thanking them all in advance for their bravery and courage. 

Poe was the last of the group she spoke to.

“I remember you when you were much younger, Poe. Brash,” she said as he shook his head and looked down at his feet. “Arrogant, cocky. Thought the galaxy revolved around you. Swearing up a storm like a junker lightyears from home. And now look at you. One of the bravest men I’ve ever known. And what you’ve done for Finn...you’ve become a remarkable asset to the Resistance, Poe. I think if Han had gotten to know you, well --”

Poe’s childhood hero began to tear up in front of him. He wasn’t sure what to do, so he looked her straight in the eye.

“Oh, Poe...he’d never say it, but you’re everything he’d have wanted our son to be.”

“General, I --”

“Poe,” Leia said, steeling herself, the tears gone as quickly as they’d arrived. “I believe there’s someone else who wants to give you his best.” She turned around and called out. “Finn?”

Finn emerged from behind a dark corner just inside of headquarters, anxious of the gathered crowd outside, fearful of saying farewell to Poe. He was fidgeting, his eyes bolting all over the place. The General nodded her head at him, and on her command he went up to the top of the platform.

“I’ll leave you two be,” she said, smiling. “And Poe?”

“General?”

“May the Force be with you.”

Poe smiled in response, and his smile widened with every step Finn took as he slowly walked up to him.

“Hey, buddy.”

“Poe, I’m scared,” Finn blurted out, quietly and suddenly.

Poe took the younger man’s face in his hands. “Hey...it’s going to be okay, Finn. I swear to you. I’ll come back to you. I always do. Remember the mission to Naboo, when you were worried about the Gungan insurrection? What happened?”

“...you came back,” Finn said.

“And the time I had to go to Dathomir for the medicinal aid trip? The debacle with the Nightsisters?”

“You came back,” Finn said.

“And the time the First Order tried to claim Rodia?”

“You came back,” Finn said.

“So what am I going to do this time, Finn?”

“You’re gonna come back,” Finn said.

“Damn right,” Poe said, squeezing the other man’s face tighter and pulling him in for a deep, passionate kiss. Leia smiled from a few feet away.

After Poe had pulled away, he looked deeply into Finn’s eyes. “Take care of BB-8 for me, huh? He’ll take care of you, too.”

“You’re not taking BB-8?”

“It’s a black ops mission, Finn,” Poe said. “Unmarked X-Wing, refurbished droid we found on Mustafar. We can’t have them knowing too much, intel panels out.”

“Poe...”

Poe glared at Finn.

“Finn, I’m. Coming. Back.”

Finn nodded quickly, non-stop, trying to reassure himself.

“You’re coming back.”

“That’s right.”

“You’re coming back.”

“Hell yes.”

“You’re coming back!”

“To you. Always!”

The two kissed one more brief time before Finn took a deep breath, nodded, and walked back down and off the ramp. The rest of the crew bade farewell to their loved ones and fully boarded the ship as the ramp began to close up.

“Good luck out there,” Admiral Ackbar yelled to the cargo ship crew as the ship’s doors began to close and prepare for takeoff, “and may the Force be with you.”

As the gathered members of the Resistance began to cheer, the ship took off to yells and applause.

After takeoff, as Ackbar, Pava, Leia and the others went back inside, Finn stayed. He watched the ship fly further and further away from D’Qar until it became a dot in the sky, and continued to watch the sky for hours until night fell.


	2. Straight for the Eye of Destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the black ops craft Leth's Call, Poe grapples with anxiety and discomfort on what could turn out to be a suicide mission. Will he succeed?

Poe could see the Order’s base amidst the snow. Its grey and black exterior betrayed itself as the snow flurries tried and failed to consume it. This was it, he thought. All the doubters and cowards who had been calling Finn a mole, a spy, a fool, a dreamer -- they were going to learn just how brave and how smart Finn was, how intuitive, when Poe came home carrying Captain Phasma’s helmet to deliver to the General like a child’s birthday gift, its wearer trussed up in chains and being ushered in by his unlikely crew of Resistance heroes. 

He tilted the X-Wing down, angling it for landing, as the snow and wind whipped and howled around him.

********

Four hours out of D’Qar, and nobody had said a word to one another. Poe would never say it out loud, but he was beginning to feel anxious. There was a general tone, an atmosphere settling in on the cargo ship, one that very much felt like the final hours of a vigil at the bedside of a dying loved one. Snap was piloting the cargo ship -- _Leth’s Call_ , Poe had learned it was called -- and he, Poe, and Razer sat quietly, staring out the portals into space. 

They’d made the jump into hyperspace hours earlier, but were slowly approaching the Elom system so as not to call attention to _Leth’s Call_. 

The anxiety was getting to be too much for Poe. 

He buried his head in his hands, and his fingers grabbed at his curly hair as he pulled at it.

He thought of Finn. All he thought of was Finn.

He wondered what Finn was doing, what he was feeling. How he was handling this...Poe had been resisting the phrase that had tried invading his skull. This suicide run. 

That’s what it was. If it failed, or if the intel was a trap, or if there was even one wrong movement, that’s what this was. A suicide run.

Standing up abruptly, Poe let out a loud sound, some malformed amalgamation of a grunt, a groan and a depressed sigh.

Without a word to the others, he turned and strode down the corridor, heading for his tiny quarters.

Snap looked behind him for an instant, but recognized Poe’s body language. He didn’t want to be left alone, but he needed to be. 

Razer didn’t move, staring straight ahead towards the Elom system.

*****

Poe walked down the personnel corridor, finding Arla passed out in a corner, her tiny Dug body rolled up into as close to a ball as her skeleton would allow. In her hand was not a bottle, but a photograph of two older Dugs. Her parents, Poe surmised.

Poe opened the door to his quarters, the last in the hallway, just as Scylla, who’d settled into the room next to his, opened her door.

“Going for a jog?” She asked.

“Turning in, actually,” he said. “Little tense.”

“Without?” She asked, indicating the ship’s bridge. Then, pointing to her own head, “Or within?”

Poe let out an uncomfortable chuckle.

“Uh, both, actually.”

A look of concern crossed Scylla’s face.

“Do you need to talk?” She asked, concerned.

“I’ll be okay. I just need to rest up.”

“That’s for the best,” she said. “I’m gonna go for a jog.”

“On this rustbucket? That’ll be a lot of back and forth.”

“Yeah, well,” Scylla said. “Gotta keep my mind off things I can’t control, right?”

“Yeah,” Poe said. “You’re right. I may read. Pava --”

“She always gives good recommendations. That may help, if you can’t sleep.”

“Yeah, it might.”

He turned the knob of his door and began to walk in.

“You meditate, Dameron?”

“Me?” he asked. “No. Why?”

“I could teach you some good techniques when we get back to D’Qar. Finn, too, if he wants. My father was no Jedi, but he was a very spiritual man. Helps calm the mind.”

Poe tried to follow what Scylla was saying, but he was stuck on Finn’s name. Then his eyes. His hair. His jawline. His face. His throat. His shoulders…

“Don’t look so shocked, Dameron,” she said. “Just because one Tarkin was a bad egg doesn’t mean --”

Poe snapped himself out of his daze. “No, no, I didn’t -- I was just somewhere else for a second.”

“Home,” Scylla said.

“Yeah.”

“Get some rest, Dameron. We’ve only got a few hours before we hit Elom.”

“Yeah. I’ll...I’ll do that.”

He paused as Scylla turned and began to jog.

“Hey, Scylla,” he called out. “I’ll take you up on that, when we get back to D’Qar. I’m sure Finn will too.”

As she jogged, she held up her hand with a thumbs up, unclenched her other four fingers and then waved it backwards at him.

Poe opened the door to his quarters and immediately plopped onto the bed.

A single bed.

For one man.

For Poe, and for Poe alone.

All he could think of was Finn.

He was doing this for Finn.

He closed his eyes. 

Finn was there.

He tried to drown Finn out. He tried going through routine X-Wing maintenance techniques in his head. Named and re-named every single control in his console. Named each circuit, panel and part of BB-8. But it all kept coming back to Finn.

Three hours left til Elom. Three hours of being left alone in his single room with nothing but himself and Finn. His Finn.

His strong, beautiful Finn. His mind wandered back to the night before, Finn pushing him back onto their shared bed and kissing down his body.

Poe trailed his hand downward absent-mindedly to rub himself through his pants, then slipped his fingers into his boxers.

_Finn’s kisses followed the trail of soft hair that disappeared past Poe’s waistband. The pilot looked down at him through half-open eyes and bit his lip as Finn curled his fingers around the other man’s pants and tugged them down. He wrapped his hand around Poe’s length, his glistening eyes peering up to meet Poe’s gaze as he leaned down and wrapped his lips around him…_

He came, gasping Finn’s name into the stale air.

The tiny room suddenly felt unbearably empty. 

******

Poe awoke, crusty and disoriented, to the sound of Scylla Tarkin pounding on his door, yelling that he was late, the snow was flurrying up, and if he didn’t move fast, their window would be shot. 

Poe’s heartbeat spiked as he looked around the room for Finn instinctively before remembering where he was, what he was doing, and what was about to happen.

Not even bothering to clean off the dried cum, Poe jumped up and began to slip on his flight suit like it was a second skin.

Scylla pounded at the door again.

“Dameron!” she cried out.

“Hold your hoskas,” he yelled, “I’m on my way out.”

***********

Poe’s heart raced as he sat in the unfamiliar X-Wing, issuing commands and settings to a droid he had never seen before. He tried to comfort himself with the notion that BB-8 was safe back on D’Qar, safe with Finn, but that only made the Commander’s anxious heart beat faster. The astromech droid in the retrofitted X-Wing, like the X-Wing itself, didn’t even have a proper designation. Poe took a deep breath, strapping himself in and readjusting his helmet, and engaged his engines as the cargo bay door opened in front of him.

So alien and yet so familiar, flying this X-Wing was like flying a distorted, alternate version of his own. The astromech droid just behind him beeped and booped almost exactly like BB-8, to the point where only Poe would be able to know the difference, how this new droid was a mere 1/12 of an octave off from his usual companion’s typical whirring.

He took a few seconds to get his bearings and assess the flying conditions he was facing.

“All right, I’m going low. Com silence.”

“Copy that, Commander.” Snap replied.

Poe tilted his controls to begin his descent. Below him stretched a snowy mountain range, treacherous and jagged, nearly disappearing in the falling snow.

The snow wouldn’t be a problem. He had faced worse. He began to properly level his craft against the angry white onslaught that was coming down around him, navigating smoothly around the nearest mountaintop as he continued to descend.

Poe spotted the base below him much quicker than he thought he would. He grimaced to himself. A huge flat expanse of snow stretched across the top of one of the wider mountains, punctuated here and there by rocky outcrops. Potential cover, he noted. Almost half a mile from any outcropping was the base, a flat and wide duracrete bunker attached to a grey, soulless dome, no doubt the site of Phasma’s alleged project. Four guard towers, all bearing the First Order’s standard, were situated equidistant from the main structure, two snowtroopers per tower.

If he was lucky, the snow would hide him from any radar the base might have monitoring the surrounding areas, and even from the snowtroopers, but he didn’t want to risk too much. He began a smooth arc to the right, away from the industrial compound, aiming to get back to a safe perimeter so he could relay his findings.

Before he could start to ascend, though, a familiar sound, muffled by snow, nearly stopped Poe’s heart out of fear: the sound of laser fire. Could they possibly have...it was so soon, how could… He didn’t have time to react, to separate fact from fear, before something made contact with the right side of his X-Wing and exploded on impact, obliterating the wings. Alarms began to scream through the cockpit as screens flashed red with warnings; the unmarked droid screeched in distress and relayed the condition of the wings. Poe tuned it all out, tried his best to keep the ship level and aim for snow, but he was losing control fast as fire filled the right half of his vision. He went into a tail spin, his sense of up and down disappearing.

He thought of Finn as the X-Wing gained downward momentum, furiously slamming onto the surface below like the fist of an angry Rancor, and sounding like nothing much at all as Poe crashed into a snowbank miles from the First Order base.

******

Time passed. It must have, Poe thought, because that’s what time does. It passes, and it destroys. Opening his eyes, he realized he wouldn’t need to pop the cockpit of the X-Wing, for the vessel itself barely had much of a cockpit left. Most of what remained was merely Poe’s seat and a melted control panel mere inches away.

He could see the endless, snowy mountains go on for miles and miles as far as the eye could see. The crash had provided him with a front row seat. 

It was almost mythic. Poe thought that, if this was the afterlife of any of the more cynical people he had met from cultures on ice worlds, with the expansive whiteness before him, that he could very well be in some hellish realm.

He dismissed the thought. There was no afterlife. Poe knew that almost for certain. No great reward for our heroes. No great damnation for our enemies to burn in. No, the afterlife, Poe had thought, was a thing reserved for the Jedi, and only for them.

He was content with this. After all, energy does not dissipate or spontaneously appear; it merely transfers. He hoped, if this was the end, that his energy would be put to good use. Maybe even in the Force, he briefly thought to himself in a bemused fashion.

Until then, until he knew he had nothing left, no time, no life, no reason, he knew he had to live.

Finn, even moreso than the Resistance, had given him reason.

Poe sighed, then moaned in pain, as the sigh itself hurt to escape his lips, his ribcage jutting into his lung. Slowly, surely and with no small amount of pain, he reached forward, pushing two nearly burned-out buttons.

The still-functioning droid behind him let out a few whirs, beeps, and clicks, and the readout on the console was clear. At least something on this hunk of junk was working.

“PILOT DOWN. REQUIRE EXTRACTION.” Encrypted, of course, and on Resistance channels only. The successful sending of the distress signal activated an emergency beacon that shot out of the back of Poe’s X-Wing, breaching the atmosphere of Elom with a speed and elegance that the Pilot couldn’t help but admire. He hoped beyond hope that both the beacon and the distress call would make it through the bleak, oppressive conditions.

Grabbing his ribs, he slowly but surely stood from his seat, grasping the soulless husk of the cockpit for support, and fully stuck his head outside.

The cold wind hurt his ears.

He hoisted himself out and fell to the ground, gritting his teeth as searing pain shot through the right side of his body. He gasped heavily, in and out, focusing all of his energy on remembering how to breathe. Several minutes passed before the pain began to subside and he was able to sit up. He looked out at the mountains and the vast nothingness around them, feeling hopelessness begin to worm its way into his mind. 

He wished he’d thought to bring the book Pava had given him.

Its protagonist reminded him of Finn.


	3. Temples and Fragments of Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Finn woke up from his coma, Poe was by his side.

For six long weeks Poe had spent every free second of his days in the medbay next to Finn. Six weeks of mission after mission, sleep deprivation, and narrowly escaping death for Poe Dameron. That part hadn’t been new. What had been new was the feeling in his chest that gripped him tightly and wouldn’t let go. A feeling that scared him more than any battle ever could. The feeling of having a reason to return home. Poe had rushed towards danger headlong as far back as he could remember. He had never been afraid to die, just as long as he went out with a bang fighting for the Resistance. But now he felt Finn pulling him back every time. He felt fear. He felt loss stabbing at his heart every time he left the other man behind. Poe was all Finn had now that Rey was gone, and he damn sure wasn’t going to leave him with no one. Not after the odds they’d faced. He knew he’d hear Finn’s voice again. He would make sure of it.

He held Finn’s hand sometimes, when no one was around to see. He traced the lines of his warm palm, committing them to memory. He felt his pulse with his fingers, counting the beats in his head, reminding himself that his friend was still there with him. 

The medical droids and staff told him to go get rest. To eat, to shower, to shave. Jessika brought him food now and then, knowing him well enough to know he would skip meals entirely if she didn’t. 

One night, General Organa herself appeared in the medbay, hands clasped behind her back and voice stern as she approached the Commander.

"Poe, go sleep."

The General's voice cut through the fog of his consciousness like a knife. Poe straightened up and turned to look at her from his bedside seat. He had bags under his eyes, his hair was greasy and disheveled, and his movements were sluggish. He hadn't left Finn's side since he had returned from his last mission.

"No." he said.

"It wasn't a question, Commander, it was an order."

He tensed and turned his gaze back to Finn. He knew she was right. He was a mess. He hadn't showered or shaved in days. He didn't want Finn to wake up alone and scared, not after what he'd been through. This lone stormtrooper had faced Kylo Ren himself and helped save the Resistance. He deserved better. Perhaps there was another reason Poe didn't want to leave his side, but he couldn't even begin to contemplate his own feelings in his current state.

"Yes ma'am." he replied, exhaling a sigh as he heaved himself out of the infirmary chair.

Leia crossed her arms and watched the pilot shuffle out of the room. She knew the look he got in his eyes when he looked at Finn. It was the same expression that had been in Han's eyes whenever he had looked at her.

He was back the very next morning, though. He couldn’t stay away. Finn had saved him on the Star Destroyer. He had saved millions of lives on Starkiller base. He had risked his life over and over to help others. Poe owed everything to this man. The least he could do was make sure he would wake up to the sight of a familiar face. He wanted to be there when he woke up.

After six weeks, he was.

*****

When Finn finally opened his eyes, the infirmary was bright, sterile, but quiet. He squinted, blinked, trying to adjust his vision to the light as he searched his brain for an explanation for his surroundings. The last thing he remembered was Kylo Ren, fear and adrenaline crashing over him as the lightsaber pressed into his shoulder. He remembered screaming, he remembered the overwhelming agony and the smell of his own flesh burning. He remembered...Rey, and the snow, and...then nothing.

He groaned and started to take stock of of his body, moving his toes, then his legs, then his arms just slightly, to make sure everything was in working order. When he got to his fingers, he finally noticed Poe.

The Commander was out cold, sitting in a chair with his head resting on the edge of the bed in the crook of his left arm. His right hand was loosely holding Finn’s.

Finn’s face felt hot. He started to pull his hand out of Poe’s slowly, doing his best to not disturb him, but the moment he moved, Poe stirred. As he sat up, Finn could finally see his face. He...looked like Bantha dung. Unshaven, bags under his eyes, hair a greasy mess. But as soon as the grogginess cleared from his head a moment later, a grin spread across his tired face. 

“Hey buddy. How are you feeling?”

“Like hell,” he responded with a smile. His voice was scratchy from having gone unused for so long. He tried pushing himself up and winced as pain surged through his back. Poe noticed and his hands shot out to help Finn, propping him up against the headboard, putting an extra pillow behind the recovering man’s head as he sat up.

“Where’s Rey?” Finn asked. “...she made it out, right? Is she okay?”

Poe frowned briefly, but began to explain what had happened after Finn’s injury so quickly Finn didn’t even notice. He explained that she helped defeat Kylo Ren, at least for now, and brought Finn back to D’Qar in the Millennium Falcon, and how, with the help of BB-8 and the reawakened R2-D2, she had flown off to find Luke Skywalker.

A moment passed between the two men as Finn took it all in. 

“She’s there now? Training to...be a Jedi?”

Finn began to laugh hysterically.

Poe cocked an eyebrow.

“No, it’s just -- everyone wanted to go back to damn Jakku, and now look at all of us.”

Poe smiled.

“We’ve all come a long way.”

A moment of silence passed between the two men, broken by the two of them speaking simultaneously.

“How long have you been --”

“Look, Finn, I wanted to apologize --”

They both stopped talking at the exact same second.

“You first,” Poe said.

“Poe...how long have you been...waiting here? For me?”

“I, uh,” Poe chuckled. “Whenever they let me. When I’m not in a mission. I didn’t want you to wake up alone. In this unfamiliar environment. You really only know so few of us. Just me and the General, really.”

“I...thank you, Poe.”

“Look,” Poe said, “I’m sorry if it was weird, waking up to me holding your hand like that. I read somewhere that coma patients can hear and feel the people who speak to and touch them. It helps them heal, from what I understand.”

Finn’s mind raced. Nobody had ever shown this level of caring for him before. He’d been an outsider even among the others in the First Order, and the few friends he had didn’t risk any kind of physical intimacy. But he couldn’t explain this to Poe. His voice was hoarse, and it was getting harder to talk. So instead, he kept it short, simple and sweet.

“Poe,” he said, a smile on his face. “Thank you.”

Poe smiled back. “Don’t even worry about it.” He paused for a moment. “I should go grab the doctor for you, let them know you’re awake. And General Organa. She’ll want to see you, buddy.”

“Me? Why?” Finn asked, sincerely.

“Why? You’re a hero, Finn.”

*****

Barely a week had passed before Finn was cleared to leave the medbay. His back was still stiff, and the scarred skin pulled when he moved the wrong way, but he was in damn good condition all things considered.

He was assigned to a shared barracks that housed soldiers. It was cramped, and he didn’t have much time to himself, but he was used to it. It was a step up from the First Order, that much he knew, and was grateful for. He was free to come and go as he pleased, chat with others, and keep personal belongings in his space, not that he had any besides Poe’s ruined jacket.

Meals were spent with Poe when he was on base. Which was fairly often, after the destruction of Starkiller Base. Leia called it the calm before the storm, but it didn’t stop Poe from enjoying the relative peace time.

“My dad used to make these all the time when I was little. They’re a Yavin 4 tradition.” Poe said cheerfully, setting a tray down on the table and sliding in next to Finn until their thighs were touching lightly. Finn’s skin felt electric where it pressed against against Poe. This was new to him. Contact. Touching. He’d grown up devoid of it, starved for affection, though he didn’t realize it until now. He liked this, whatever it was.

“What is it?” 

“They’re called litales masalote,” Poe said. “It’s wrapped in bread, and the first layer’s a fresh banana. After that is a mix of corn, tomato sauce, nuts and raisins. And the best part is, you can dip it in whatever you like. Soup, beans, whatever.”

“Can I try it?”

Poe grinned and slid the tray towards him.

Finn seemed excited to have his first taste, and Poe watched intently as he did so.

“What do you think?” an anxious Poe asked after Finn took his first bite.

He spoke with his mouth full, chomping down on the litales like he’d never eaten anything before in his life.

“This is the single greatest thing I’ve ever eaten.”

Poe smiled and laughed. 

“Glad you like it,” he said.

“We never ate like this in the First Order. Just some kind of sludge they fed us. Gruel, almost. ‘Protein rations’ they called them, three times a day. And a piece of bread at breakfast and dinner.”

Poe looked disgusted.

“Wow. They really _are_ evil.”

Finn kept shoveling food into his mouth. “And you used to eat like this all the time?”

“Well,” Poe said. “Not all the time. My father would make them two, three times a week when he could afford to. It was hard for him to find work that paid well after the Empire fell. Nobody really had working gigs for a former Rebel sergeant. He floated around a lot from gig to gig. Lot of independent contracting. But when we had the money, and on special occasions, we got these.”

Poe wanted to ask Finn about his life, his early years, his home. He didn’t know if he should. He knew the First Order kidnapped children, trained them, made them into living weapons. He wanted to know if Finn had been able to hold on to any of that, but he didn’t dare ask. He still wore his smile, though.

Luckily, he didn’t have to ask.

“I don’t remember my family,” Finn offered up freely, without prompting. “If I even had one.”

Poe’s smile dropped and he looked at Finn with sadness. There was so much Finn had missed out on growing up, so much that had been _stolen_ from him, but Poe was determined to make up for all of it.

“You’ve got one now, buddy.”

Poe clapped Finn on the shoulder with a warm hand. 

Finn grinned.

*****

Finn was used to no privacy, given the way that the First Order functioned. Individuality and personal comfort were not exactly a top priority for them. The tight quarters on the D’Qar base felt almost like a home he had forgotten to miss. He was settling in easily, given everything. Even the shared showers hadn’t been a problem for him.

That was, until the day he ran into Poe.

The showers were one large tiled room with shower heads positioned every four feet or so around three walls, the fourth wall having a swinging door that lead to a locker room. Finn was at the fourth station on the right wall, humming to himself as he soaped up. Snap was lathering up his hair with shampoo at the first station when Poe walked in. Naked. He greeted Snap with a playful insult that Finn didn’t even register, then walked straight to the shower head directly to Finn’s right and turned on the water.

“Hey buddy.”

“Hey,” Finn responded, attempting to sound aloof.

Poe started to massage shampoo into his hair and had his eyes closed against the stream of the water. Finn couldn’t help himself. He let his eyes wander.

While Finn was muscled from extensive combat training, Poe was lean but defined. Finn’s eyes lingered on the other man’s torso for a moment before trailing downward. A small trail of hair lead down between the softly defined V of Poe’s hips. Finn’s gaze moved lower still.

“See something you like?”

Finn snapped his head up. He hadn’t noticed Poe open his eyes.

“I...uh…” he stuttered, completely at a loss.

“Leave the kid alone, Dameron.” Snap called over.

Poe laughed and turned his head towards the other pilot as he began to spread soap over his tan skin. Finn stared at the ground.

“Why, worried I forgot about you?” Poe said with mock suggestiveness. 

Snap snorted.

“I’d rather fuck a Sarlacc.”

Poe finished rinsing himself clean a few moments later, shut the water off, and turned to leave without glancing back at Finn. On his way out, he slapped Snap on the ass and chuckled.

“Hey, pal, don’t be like that.” 

“Kriff off.” Snap responded, sounding amused nevertheless, and followed after him. 

Finn stood under the warm water for a few more minutes even though he was done. He hoped to whatever was out there that Poe hadn’t noticed how hard he was.

******

Finn tossed and turned in his bunk, his mind racing. He wasn’t used to the type of thoughts he’d been having. He’d never really had the opportunity to explore these sorts of emotions before in any real way, and now that they were hitting him, they were hitting him all about once and he didn’t know what to do.

Emotional expression was almost entirely banned amongst the Stormtroopers of the First Order. Most standard emotions -- feelings like love, sadness, envy, jealousy, greed and joy -- were heavily discouraged, if not outright banned, amongst the lower echelons of the Order’s forces. If any Stormtrooper was caught exploring any non-permitted emotions, especially the ones that were considered the more “extreme” feelings, they were taken away for “reconditioning”, until all the feelings they had left surrounded their loyalty to the First Order and their desire to crush the Republic and the Resistance. Many Stormtroopers had to hide their feelings, if indeed they recognized them at all after their life-long conditioning. Others, like Finn, had to bury them, hide them away until they almost weren’t there at all.

But now that Finn was finally away from that world, he didn’t care to suppress his feelings anymore. Processing these feelings was scary, yes, but it was also liberating. First Poe helped him escape service to the First Order and now, unintentionally, he had helped him liberate these...new feelings.

He’d been thinking about Poe in ways he’d never experienced before. Frustrating, confusing ways but they were ways that made him feel...good. Happy. Feelings that made him enjoy spending time with Poe Dameron more than he enjoyed spending time with anyone else.

Sure, he enjoyed Snap’s company, and Pava’s and many of the other members of the Resistance he’d gotten to know. But the way he felt about Poe was different.  
When Poe was near him, his heart stuttered in his chest. When the man touched him, his skin felt like it was on fire. When he looked at him, he felt his cheeks burn and his mind stop. When he heard his voice, his stomach did somersaults.

Images from the last few weeks flashed through Finn’s mind: Poe fiddling with engines in the hangar, in a tight tank top, orange jumpsuit rolled down to his waist. Poe washing his X-Wing, shirtless and wet, grinning and waving to him. Poe standing next to him in the shower, naked, his eyes closed and head tilted back under the water, lips parted ever so slightly.

His imagination ran wild, out of his control.

_Poe touching him, Poe kissing him, Poe’s hands all over him, Poe Poe Poe…._

He laid awake for hours, cursing the lack of privacy in the bunks, before his eyelids finally began to droop.

When sleep overtook Finn, he dreamt of Poe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is confused about shared showers, definitely go watch Starship Troopers. I guess just in general, go watch Starship Troopers.


	4. Love Dies Silently

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An extraction team including Finn arrives to rescue an injured Poe, but things go horribly wrong. Some live, some die, and no one will ever be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My soundtrack choice for this chapter:
> 
> "Sick Of Losing Soulmates" by Dodie Clark  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mHUIoikgKT0
> 
> -mooyani

Poe had been gazing at what he had surmised to be the A’driannamieq Mountains of Elom for nearly three hours, his back against the wreckage of his ship.

Three hours without food or water. Three hours without warmth. Three hours without his distress call or homing beacon meaning a damn thing. The X-Wing had no blankets, no jacket, no flares or lighters. Nothing that would help him stave off the cold. More than one or two of Elom’s twenty-six hour days like this and Poe would surely succumb to his injuries.

And so he stared intently at the A’driannamieq Mountains, looking for any sign of Elom’s native beings, any of them, even the animals. If he spotted any members of the Elom or Elomin, maybe he could convince them to take him in, keep him warm, wait until help arrived. If help was even coming. That was an unlikely possibility, but the best one Poe had.

Poe hated to think of the alternatives. The second worst alternative that Poe’s ice-addled mind could think of was having to find and skin a Cherfer or Ranphyx, which Poe wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle; it would be necessary for him to survive, much like the story General Organa used to tell about her ex-husband on Hoth, but he knew he’d feel awful killing an innocent creature. Such senseless brutality bothered him. But he knew completing the mission was shot, and survival should be his primary goal.

Poe’s biggest concern, of course, was that he’d have to seek out help, but would somehow die along the way, be it by accident, succumbing to his injuries, some sort of cultural miscommunication or, worse yet, execution at the hands of Captain Phasma and the First Order.

He knew that he’d probably never seen Finn again.

Finn.

Despite the pain, Poe stood up, grabbing at his side, and pressed a few buttons on the still-whirring droid, and began to record a holographic message for Resistance eyes only.

After he’d finished and a moment had passed, Poe dipped his head, and blinked back the forming tears. He pushed Finn from his mind and tried to focus on the present. He knew he could stay where he was much longer or the wrong people would find him. He turned, lifting his head to the sky, and tried to see if he could make out the First Order’s base anywhere along the horizon, looking for the guard towers, one of which no doubt held the turret that shot him down. 

All he saw was miles and miles of white in every direction.

Still, he kept looking.

When Poe felt he had a decent sense of where he was going -- North, he’d surmised, away from the base and to safety -- he left the X-Wing and droid behind, and, despite the pain, began to walk.

******

Back on the _Call_ , Snap and Scylla were playing a card game they’d picked up in some seedy cantina on one of the outer rim planets. They sat opposite each other on the bridge of the ship, a hat, half-full of old cards, was on the floor between them.

Snap looked carefully over his cards.

He tried in vain to hide what he saw from Scylla, but Snap’s poker face was awful, to put it mildly. 

Scylla smirked. 

“Endor, Coruscant, Vrogas Vas.”

“Dammit!” Snap yelled, throwing his hand into the hat.

“Yes!” Scylla said, shooting her arms up into the air. “The streak continues!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Snap said, “next time, I’ll be ready for--”

The bridge’s com relay lit up, and Snap turned his chair to it quickly.

“PILOT DOWN, EXTRACTION NEEDED” was the message he read after a brief decryption.

Scylla looked at another monitor.

“I’m picking up a distress beacon,” she said, turning to him. “It’s Commander Dameron.”

“Yeah, I just got an encrypted message from him. Few hours old. He’s down. Way off course.”

“What do we do?” Scylla asked, concerned.

“I’m alerting the base that we need a full extraction team,” Snap replied, “and they need to bring a ship that can land on this planet. They’ll need to grab him and get out, chances are the First Order knows something’s up now.”

“He better be alive,” Scylla said. “He owes me forty credits.”

Snap forced himself to smile. He’d seen Commander Dameron in dreadful situations plenty of times, but none of those missions involved this level of extreme temperature, this sort of risky black ops work, or the horrible, gut-wrenching idea that Poe was already dead or, worse, compromised.

“He better be,” Snap agreed, stoically. 

******

Back on D’Qar, Finn sat on his side of the bed, a stress ball in his hand. He clenched it tightly for thirty seconds, then unclenched it. Clenched, then unclenched. Clenched, then unclenched.

Poe was supposed to have made it to the base to verify FN-2046’s claims hours ago, and still the Resistance had heard nothing. Finn had spoken to Pava, who was stationed at the war room’s com relays for this shift, and convinced her that, despite the edict from above that communication with _Leth’s Call_ should be kept to a minimum for the security of the mission, she should try and make contact. She tried, but to no avail. Her apology, though genuine, rang hollow to Finn’s ears. It did nothing to settle his nerves. Still, she’d told him the second she heard anything, anything at all about the mission, she’d let him know.

Five hours later, Pava, out of breath and trembling nervously, showed up at Finn’s door and, between deep breaths, told him.

“Something...something’s happened...Poe…”

Finn didn’t wait for her to finish. He jumped up, leaving a panting Jessika behind, and ran out the door. He needed to speak to General Organa, now.

******

Walking along on the surface of Elom, Poe’s injuries were starting to get the better of him.

 _Fail_ , they seemed to be saying. _Fall. Give up. Give in. This is it. This is the end._

No. It wasn’t the end. Not for Poe Dameron. Not like this.

Yeah, right. Like he could really control that.

As his mind began to slip away from his reality, his life played back for him, slowly, randomized scenes from the past washing over him. 

He remembered a Stormtrooper with no name helping him escape First Order captivity.

He remembered spending hours staring at the tree growing at the center of his parents’ home, his childhood inquisitiveness pondering its importance, if it was just a random tree, why none of the others he’d seen ever seemed as magical.

He remembered meeting General Organa for the first time, coming face to face with his personal hero. 

He remembered his first flight lesson with his mother, trembling with anticipation, a smile on his face.

He remembered holding Finn in his arms and falling asleep next to him for the first time, hoping that the first time wouldn’t also be the last.

He remembered arriving on D’Qar, ready, willing, and eager to throw his weight behind the battle against the First Order.

Most of all, he remembered the face of the man he loved, every inch of it, and every time he had seen it.

Poe thought if he could hold on for just another hour, maybe two, he’d be able to see that face again, frostbite and statistical odds be damned.

******

Finn, running at full speed, stumbled into the war room, heart racing. 

The present officers were so intent on their conversation, they didn’t notice him at first.

“Commander Dameron is a valued asset, General,” Statura said, “You won’t hear me argue against that. But risking an extraction mission for one man? We don’t even know if he’s still ali--”

Finn stepped forward to make his presence known. The leadership collectively turned their heads to find the distraught, panting man standing before them.

Statura, not normally one to be taken by surprise, suddenly felt an immense feeling of terrible guilt.

“Finn, I -- I didn’t mean --”

“I don’t care what you meant,” Finn said sharply, collecting his breath. “Send me in.”

Statura shot a steely gaze at Finn, taken aback. 

“You’re out of line, Finn.”

“Send me in, _sir_.”

The admiral started to open his mouth to respond, but at that moment Jessika rounded the corner and entered the war room.

“I’ll go too.”

The other gathered officers exchanged glances, then looked towards the General and the admiralty. 

Statura stared at her. 

“Pava, you can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious,” she replied. “Commander Dameron would do it for me. He’d do it for any of us.”

The other pilots and officers in the room looked around one another, nodding. Even Ackbar did the same. 

After a moment, a third member of the Resistance stood beside Finn and Pava. Then another, and another and another. All told, there were maybe fifteen men and women ready to die to bring Poe Dameron back to D’Qar. It was a hard sight to argue against.

“Well,” General Organa said, “it looks like we have ourselves an extraction team.”

In the back of the room, Admiral Statura shook his head.

General Organa smiled. 

“Let’s get you all boarded onto a ship immediately,” Ackbar said. “Bring Commander Dameron, my goddaughter, and the others home. We owe them that. May the Force be with you.”

******

On the bridge of _Leth’s Call_ , Scylla, Snap, Arla and Razer were gathered, discussing the distress signal and the holographic message relayed in the beacon.

Snap addressed the crew.

“I’ve relayed the message to Resistance command on D’Qar. Admiral Ackbar himself is remote commanding an extraction team. Pava is taking point. We have to assume that the First Order knows something’s afoot, so the team will be eschewing usual black ops protocols and should be here within the hour. We’re to wait here to serve as assistance.”

“Assistance?” Scylla barked back, offended, folding her arms. “We can’t wait an hour. He could be dead by then. He could be dying _right now_ , Captain. We should be going in.”

“I appreciate your viewpoint, Scylla, and I may even agree with it,” Snap said, “but our orders are what they are. We’ll be aiding them in the extraction. With our combined numbers, nearly twenty Resistance fighters, ready for anything? The odds will be in our favor.”

Arla spoke up. 

“So how in the hells is this going to work? Dameron was the only one crazy enough to try and land a ship at that altitude, in that terrain. We can’t exactly fly right up to the crash sight.” 

Snap scratched at his beard, his lips a tight line.

“Well?” Arla asked. 

Snap looked at a loss.

At that moment, a radio signal came in, saving Snap from having to tell his crew that he had no idea what was going to happen.

“Wexley, this is Pava,” the transmission offered. “I have someone on the line for you.”

“Snap, it’s Finn. We’re going to get Poe back. Here’s the plan.”

******

Poe kept walking.

As he walked, the howling wind chilling his bones, Poe began to feel fear. Real, legitimate fear, and all the fear he’d ever felt all at once.

“Simply put, Mister Dameron,” his New Republic flight school instructor, whose voice rode in and out on the wind itself, had told him as a teenager, “nobody here will permit you to pass. You mouth off. You question authority more than even the most rebellious students, the ones whose entire identities are based on non-conformity, ever would. You’re brash. You’re arrogant. Who would want a loudmouth prick like you in their squadron?”

“Shut up,” Poe shouted at the falling snow. “Shut your kriffin’ mouth.”

He flashed back further, to his early teenage years as he vacationed on Coruscant during one of the rare times his family could afford to leave Yavin 4. A group of bullies, teenage criminals, sassing a local kid. He could hear their voices in his head, saying all the horrible things they said all those years ago after he’d intervened to save a young Rodian child they had cornered in an ally.

“Well, look what we have here,” his memory played back to him. “Rodian-loving trash. Didn’t we tell you last night not to make a move to help these scaly slimeballs? Didn’t we tell you to give up, trash?”

“I don’t give up,” Poe remembered telling them as he pulled a switchblade from his coat pocket.

“And I’m not givin’ up now,” he said aloud.

And still he kept walking.

******

The Resistance freighter _Orchid Mother_ took less than an hour to meet with the crew of _Leth’s Call_ , but to Finn it felt like centuries. Everyone on board was ready to fight and die to bring back Poe Dameron, and maybe even have a shot at taking down the vile Captain Phasma herself. 

In a way, it humbled him. The way Poe made Finn feel seemed almost inconsequential when compared to the loyalty he seemed to inspire in the members of the Resistance, all of whom had volunteered on what could very easily be a mission resulting in their deaths. All of whom had volunteered the moment they heard that Commander Poe Dameron needed an extraction. All of whom were told by Admiral Ackbar, just before boarding _Orchid Mother_ , that they were under no obligation to risk their lives. All of who did it anyway.

And so Finn felt humbled.

When _Orchid Mother_ had come into range of Elom and _Leth’s Call_ , Pava had given Finn permission to tell Snap and the others the plan. 

Poe had crashlanded near the mountains. 

“Commander Dameron was the only one who could have landed there,” Snap said over the com.

“I know,” Finn replied, feeling a bittersweet feeling of pride. “We’ll have to land farther downslope, in safer terrain. We’ll have to hoof it to his last known location.”

“If he’s still there,” Snap said. “He may have gone to find cover, especially if he’s injured. He’s not dumb; he knows he’s wearing orange in a near-whiteout. He’ll stand out to the First Order like a droid sitting on the Jedi council.”

Finn’s heart stopped beating for a moment. _Injured_ , Snap had said. Finn couldn’t control his racing heart or intrusive thoughts. The images, the potentialities, the fear -- they overwhelmed him, cutting him to his core. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to take it if he saw...if they found…

No. He wouldn’t let himself think like that. Poe had told him that he’d be coming back.

If that meant bringing him back himself, Finn thought, so be it.

******

Poe Dameron kept walking through the frozen wasteland, hoping to find safety, or at least some sort of cover, before night fell.

“Please, Poe,” he remembered a young man’s voice asking him. “Joining the Resistance...it’s dangerous. What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do without you?”

“It isn’t about me, Pavitr,” Poe said. “And it’s not about you. The First Order is a threat to everyone.”

Poe remembered arms wrapping around him, and as he remembered what Pavitr’s embrace felt like, he could feel his warm lips kissing his shoulder.

“Let someone else do it,” Pavitr had said.

“Someone else… Who knows how many people will be left to fight if the First Order keeps getting stronger? They need everyone they can get.”

“Poe.”

“It isn’t about us,” Poe had told him. “I promise.”

The wind picked up, smacking Poe in the face with ice and snow, cutting his cheek. His face began to bleed.

He closed his eyes for a minute and opened them to find Finn standing before him, wearing the jacket he’d given him.

“Poe Dameron,” Finn said, his hands in his coat pockets, smiling. 

“Finn. You came for me!”

“Of course I did, Poe. Why wouldn’t I?”

Poe smiled to himself, letting out a chuckle. “Well, then. What’s a sweetheart like you doing in a dump like this?”

Finn walked over to Poe, slowly, cautiously.

“You’re hurt, Poe,” Finn said. “We need to get you to a doctor, pronto. You did your part. You can give up the fight now.”

“I...Finn, I can’t. We need to...did you contact 2046?”

“That doesn’t matter anymore, Poe. What matters is that we have you. It’s okay. You can give up. Just close your eyes.”

“No. No, I’ll never give up,” Poe said through chilled lips. He collapsed into a heap, bleeding into the snow.

******

The crews of _Leth’s Call_ and _Orchid Mother_ met on the surface of Elom after an admittedly rocky landing, roughly a two hour trek from where Poe’s X-Wing had crashed. Between the crews of the two ships, there were nearly twenty members of the Resistance searching for Poe Dameron. 

The mission was no longer about FN-2046’s intel or apprehending the war criminal Phasma. The men and women of the Resistance would be armed and ready to ward off all comers, of course, but the mission was now securing the pilot.

They split into three teams. Pava and Arla led one. The second was led by Snap and Razer, and Finn and Scylla led the third group. Each team was accompanied by a field medic.

It was a crapshoot as to which, if any of the teams, would find Poe first.

Finn tried not think about the odds. 

Any of them.

******

It was Finn and Scylla’s team who found Poe first.

A little over two and a half hours into the search, Scylla spotted the bloody, barely-breathing body of a man in an orange flight suit, passed out behind an outcrop of rocks.

“Over there!” she cried, pointing to the unconscious man. Before the rest of the team could fully react, Finn had shot past them all, ignoring the way the thin air of the mountain top ripped the breath out of him.

“Poe!”

Finn slid to his knees next to him, frantically feeling his wrist for a pulse. It was there, but faint.

“Poe -- Poe, can you hear me? I need you to open your eyes. Poe… please... ”

“Finn,” the medic, an average-sized Ketton, said as he caught up to him. “I understand you’re emotional right now, but if I don’t see to him immediately, we could lose him forever. I have to keep him stable until we can get him back to the ship.”

Finn hesitated. The last thing in the galaxy he wanted to do was let go of Poe.

Scylla looked at him. 

“Finn.”

“Yeah….yeah,” Finn said. “Okay.”

He stood and took a step back anxiously, leaving the Ketton to his work.

The other members of their search team dug out their radios, calling in the other two teams, telling them that Commander Dameron had been found and that the medic was seeing to him before he could be moved back to _Orchid Mother_.

Snap and Razer’s team arrived first, about a half an hour after Poe had been found, with Arla and Pava’s team arriving at the stated coordinates another fifteen minutes later.

Poe was incredibly lucky. He had several cracked ribs, various lacerations, a broken arm and a likely one hell of a concussion, but he was alive. All told, his wounds could have been much worse. His suit, luckily mostly undamaged by the crash, kept him somewhat insulated from the cold, but the medic feared the weather might result in a loss of feeling in parts of his face; he’d have to thoroughly check him for signs of frostbite when the Commander was awake. Finn, Scylla, Snap, Pava and the others watched as the medic saw to Poe’s injuries as effectively as he could.

The crews stood by quietly, waiting apprehensively.

When the medic finished work on Poe, making sure he hadn’t missed bandaging any “at risk” lacerations, he stood. Immediately shots rang out and the Ketton man fell.

Three more shots rang out as Snap dodged a blast by sheer luck, and Pava’s shoulder was winged.

Razer, ready for battle, growled, drawing knives from his belt --

\-- and was met with an unexpected blast through the face.

Arla screamed his name as he fell.

A group of thirty stormtroopers had appeared on the other side of the rock outcrop. Thirty stormtroopers, outnumbering and outgunning the rescue team. 

The team scrambled for cover, pulling any weapons they had and engaging the Stormtroopers in a firefight. Finn dove behind the outcrop towards Poe, making sure his body was between the pilot and any enemy fire.

Suddenly, a familiar word rang through the air.

“Traitor! Come on out and we might spare your friends.”

Finn’s eyes widened. It wasn’t the words that hurt him. He’d gotten used to the word months ago. The First Order knew he’d been feeding the Resistance information when they analyzed all of the targets the Resistance had been hitting. No, what hurt him the most, what cut him to the core, was the voice uttering the word with such hatred and anger and ferocity.

It was the voice of one of his oldest friends. The only one left, since the third member of their trio had died in the sands of Jakku.

FN-2046 was leading the Stormtrooper unit that had ambushed them. It dawned on Finn instantly, as soon as he had heard his former comrade’s voice, that this whole thing was a trap. A ruse to draw him out, to erase the threat he posed to to the First Order, and to dole out the sort of punishment that Finn had only heard spoken of in hushed tones and paranoid whispers.

Finn looked down at Poe’s unconscious body.

“I love you. I’m sorry,” he said quietly, hoping that he’d hear his words somehow. “I’m doing this for you.”

Finn stood tall and stepped out from behind his cover, the adrenaline fueling him in spite of his fears, and called out to his aggressor.

“FN-2046!” he yelled. “Here I am, you piece of shit! You want me? Come and get me!” He spotted a grouping of four Stormtroopers whose attention was on other Resistance fighters; they continued firing and a scream cut through the air as another member of his team fell. “Stop firing! Stop! I’m surrendering.”

FN-2046 raised a hand and shouted an order to cease fire then began to walk forward, closing the gap between him and Finn.

“There you are,” 2046 said. “I see spending time with the scum of the galaxy has lowered your vocabulary. You sound like one of them. Uneducated. Fearful. Reactionary.”

“I _am_ one of them.” Finn said with conviction. 

“You walk among them,” 2046 said, “but that doesn’t mean you are one of them. I wonder, traitor...do you truly belong anywhere?”

Finn ignored the jab. He knew where he belonged. He knew what home was. And it was someone worth dying for.

“Where’s Phasma?” Finn demanded.

“Phasma?” 2046 laughed. “Captain Phasma would never set foot at this station. Did you really think there was some special project here? On Elom, of all places? Don’t be a fool. We’re a communications relay station, FN-2187. Phasma’s never even set foot in this system. Why would she? She actually has important things to do.”

“You -- you --”

“Lied?” 2046 asked. “Of course I did. We had to draw you out somehow.” He turned his head and gestured with a nod towards the rocks that Poe was hidden behind. “I shot that man down myself, you know.”

Finn gritted his teeth. They knew Poe was there and yet they hadn’t captured him... 

He had been bait.

“What is he to you?” 2046 continued as he walked. “Something important? A friend? A partner? Something more? I wonder what you’ll feel when I put my blaster to his forehead and pull the trigger.”

“You’ll have to kill me first,” Finn said.

“I would, but Phasma has other plans for you,” 2046 replied, a hint of mirth in his voice. He said something into his com that Finn couldn’t hear and suddenly there were troopers approaching him from his left and his right, blasters drawn.

Behind the outcrop, Snap, Jess, Scylla, and the other remaining team members had made their way to Poe while Finn was providing a distraction. Poe’s eyes began to flutter open as Snap kneeled next to him, grimly assessing the situation.

“Where...” Poe groaned out when his eyes found the other pilot’s face. “Where’s Finn? I...heard him…”

He struggled to sit up, his breathing labored. 

“All units, pull back. We have FN-2187. I repeat, pull out. Package acquired.”

Poe heard the shouted order. Panic was etched on his features. He tried to stand, reaching automatically for the blaster at his hip.

Snap grabbed ahold of Poe’s arm tightly and held him in place.

“Poe. Poe, listen to me,” Snap said. “We’ve lost eight people. Eight. Three more are wounded. The First Order is pulling back. I’m sorry, but we have to go.”

“No,” Poe said. “He came out here for me, Snap. I can’t let him go like this. I can’t -- this can’t be the end. It can’t --”

Scylla, with a minor head wound, and Jess, trying to cope with the shot to her left shoulder, grabbed Poe’s other arm and helped pull him to his feet. Arla and two other fighters had their blasters drawn, ready to provide cover fire. 

“NO! FINN!” Poe cried out. He tried to push them away, tried to twist out of their grip, but his body was weak. “FINN!”

“Poe!” Finn’s voice was barely audible through the howling wind. “Poe, get out of here!”

Scylla looked at Poe. 

“Poe, please,” she said sternly. “We have to go. Now.”

But Poe didn’t seem to hear her, and if he did, her words washed over him like water over a stone. Even as the surviving members of the Resistance dragged him away, back towards the ships, he kept calling out, rambling apologies to no one. 

Finn was gone.


	5. Stretched to the Core of Galaxies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shell-shocked Poe Dameron struggles to adjust to life without Finn in the days following an extraction mission gone horribly wrong. Rumors of a new First Order initiative to reprogram escaped stormtroopers begin to hit the Resistance as Poe’s own doubts about Finn’s well-being threaten to consume him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack choices for Chapter 5:
> 
> "Wolves" by Down Like Silver  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZzKzp76dElM  
> -mooyani
> 
> “This Street, That Man, This Life” by The Cowboy Junkies  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dIZ_yUEGux4
> 
> \- Ziggy_Quill_Blackstarlord

Poe sat on the edge of the bed in the medbay aboard _Orchid Mother_ , staring into nothingness. His teeth were gritted, his fists clenched, his eyes unblinking. None of this was from the exposure. Poe was already on the mend. He had an IV in his arm feeding his body the fluids it needed and upping his body temperature. 

What it was was a natural reaction to sudden and intense completely unexpected trauma. He wouldn’t sleep that night, probably wouldn’t for another night or two at the very least, much like when Finn returned to D’Qar in a coma following his duel with Kylo Ren.

Finn.

It was Finn again.

Poe wasn’t sure how to process it. Not...not this. Finn’s coma was easier. They’d only known each other briefly, but they had already changed each other’s lives for good. They were forever bound to one another through the spilling of blood and the risking of their own lives for one another’s. But still, that had somehow been easier to handle. That was before. Before they first held hands, or kissed. Before they first made love. Before they fell _in_ love. Before they moved in together. 

No, this would not be like that. Not this time. At least when Finn was in his coma, Poe could see him. Poe could touch him. Poe knew his progress, how he was doing day-to-day. 

Now, he didn’t even know if the love of his life was still alive.

Poe squeezed his eyes shut, and as he did so he felt himself get angrier. This time, the anger was directed inward. Poe hadn’t had the guts to tell himself, let alone Finn, that Finn was the love of his life. He didn’t have the words for it. He felt if he had said it aloud, if he had even realized it earlier, that the words would have been sappy. Saccharine. Over the top. Overly romantic. All things that Poe Dameron had never been accused of being. All things that Poe Dameron could never afford to be. Not when he was younger, when he was discovering himself and his world. Not when he left to fly for the Republic, and certainly not when he left to join the Resistance against the rising tide of the First Order. 

But that’s who Finn was to Poe. The love of his life.

Poe finally turned his head, opening his eyes, and saw for the first time what had been there all along: others being treated in the med bay by volunteers and the two surviving medics. Pava getting her shoulder treated. Scylla getting a minor, albeit deep, cut taken care of. A Resistance trooper he didn’t recognize -- barely an adult -- getting his right arm stitched up and his left leg fitted with a splint.

Snap tried to talk to him after they’d landed back on D’Qar, after everyone else had cleared out of the ship and returned to the base for full treatment. Poe hadn’t noticed the time go by. Poe hadn’t noticed anyone coming or going from the med bay. He barely noticed Snap even after he’d approached him. In fact, Snap had been speaking to Poe for a full minute before Poe noticed he’d said anything at all. There was no ringing in Poe’s ears, nor anything else obstructing his hearing, but everything he was able to hear, even the words Snap was no doubt trying to comfort him with, sounded like laserfire, like a crashing X-Wing, like Finn screaming. 

Some time after -- Poe wasn’t sure how long had passed -- he found himself being looked over and treated by Dr. Kalonia. It couldn’t have been that long; the afternoon sun still leaked in through the shuttered windows, and the young kid from earlier was just having his leg cast started on by a nurse.

Doctor Kalonia spoke to Poe, but he only heard snippets of what she said. 

“--lucky your ribcage didn’t puncture your lungs--”

“--how frostbite didn’t set in I’ll never know --”

“--lacerations should heal in a few--”

“--said it before, but I mean it this time: you’re seriously lucky to be alive, Commander--”

“--have to heal quite a bit before you can return to active duty, and a psych eval will be--”

“--going to be alright, Commander? If you want to talk about what happened, about Finn--”

Hearing Finn’s name snapped him out of his daze.

“Thanks, Doc,” Poe said. “I’m just gonna worry about the physical stuff right now. But the other thing -- later, maybe.”

He felt his mouth twitch. Poe hated lying, especially to people who cared about him. Doctor Kalonia had stitched him up more times than he could count, from friendly fisticuffs to battle wounds and everything in-between. 

“Poe--” Doctor Kalonia began, before stopping. 

Poe began to crack the joints in his left hand with the fingers of his right one, remembering the gentle touch of Finn’s hand on both, and how nervous he had been to hold them for the first time. 

“Yeah?” he asked.

“I just --” She stopped herself again, and then sat on the table next to him. “Mental and emotional health is just as important as physical health, as I’m sure you know. I’ve known you since you were a young man. I’ve watched you grow. So if you need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitae to come to me.” She paused. “We all care about you here. Every last one of us.”

Poe nodded.

A meek “thanks” was all he had to offer.

Doctor Kalonia sighed, giving him the rundown on how to care for his concussion for what Poe guessed had to be fourth time at least. Don’t drink for about ten days, don’t sleep for at least twenty-four hours, so on and so forth.

Poe had heard the song and dance before, but he graciously thanked her anyway.

He’d take care of himself as best he could, but he couldn’t help but wonder what the point of it was if Finn wasn’t there with him anymore.

A moment later, Leia walked in, her face unreadable. She turned to Kalonia first.

“Would you mind giving me and the Commander a moment alone, Doctor?” 

Kalonia nodded and slipped out of the room quietly. As soon as she was gone, Poe stood up abruptly, ignoring his dizziness from the sudden burst upright.

“We have to send in a team,” he said.

Leia said nothing. Poe felt panic rising in his chest. He had been numb, in shock, somewhere else entirely, but the General’s presence had pulled him back to reality, a sense of urgency settling in along with it.

“Finn is going to be made an example of,” Poe said, desperately. “They’re going to torture him for information, then they’re going to torture him for their own sick pleasure. You know what they do to even suspected traitors. You know about the water torture or whatever they’re calling it these days. How they’ll electrocute them until they spill information. How they’ll test new weapons on them. How they’ll have other troopers and officers beat them mercilessly, for fun, until they’re nothing but a bloody pulp, dragging them through the base for everyone to see. So they all stay in line. So they all keep bowing to Snoke. You know this.”

“Poe,” she spoke, sadness permeating her voice. “We have no idea where he is. We have no idea if he’s even alive. There’s nothing we can do for now.”

“He’s probably still on Elom. It’s been less than a day, they have no reason to move him. Let me go, please.”

“You’re in no condition to be going anywhere.” She paused, then re-iterated Kalonia’s affirmation. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

“Kriffing send me in!” Poe yelled. As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized he was out of line, but he didn’t have it in him to care at the moment.

“Sit down, Commander!” Leia’s voice was stern. She knew the pain Poe was feeling all too well, she knew the desperation, but her responsibility now was the safety of her surviving soldiers and the resistance. 

Poe slumped back onto the edge of the bed, the fire draining out of him.

“You’re not going anywhere until you’re physically recovered and have had a full psych evaluation.” She paused again, and, still resolute, offered something Poe had yet to hear. “I came to give you my condolences.” Her voice was kind, but firm. “I know what it’s like. I know loss, better than most, I’m afraid. If there is anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask. I have spoken with Captain Kun and she will be handling your duties for the time being. Take this time to recover how you see fit.”

He didn’t respond. He stared at the ground. He knew she was right, they had no way to know if Finn was on Elom or had been moved, if he was even alive or dead.. As much as he wanted to get back in the air, to fly back to Elom, to feel like he was at least doing _something_ , he knew it was pointless. It would be another suicide mission, and he was no good to Finn dead.

The General waited a few moments to see if he planned on responding, but finally sighed and gave him one last sad look.

“I’m sorry, Poe.” 

She turned and walked out, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

******

After his meeting with General Organa and being cleared to leave the med bay by Doctor Kalonia, Poe wasn’t sure what to do or where to go.

He was afraid to see anyone. He didn’t want to deal with a wildfire of condolences. He didn’t want to handle the avalanche of emotions, the whirlwind of well-wishes, the floodings of “if you need anything, please let me know.”

So Poe Dameron stood outside of his bedroom, facing the door, the fingers on his right hand gently resting on the keypad as he tried to work up the courage to enter.

Eventually, Poe bit his lip and clenched his left fist, as if bracing for impact.

As he opened the door, he felt like he was on Elom again, watching Finn get dragged away over and over and over again.

He looked around the empty room. A towel had been thrown over one of their chairs by Finn in what was probably a hurry to board _Orchid Mother_. Poe could tell from looking at it that it was still vaguely damp.

The closet door was wide open, the laundry basket knocked over somehow. Finn must have left in a hurry, Poe thought.

Poe pictured the man he’d been sharing his love and life with rushing to and fro, running around their shared room, desperate to help him, not knowing what lay in store for them on Elom. 

Next, Poe, steeling himself, looked towards their shared bed. Poe’s old, ruined jacket, the one he’d given to Finn, lay on the ground next to Finn’s side. Poe never asked him about it directly, but he’d always suspected that Finn kept it as an object of comfort, something to hold close to him as he slept whenever Poe was away on a mission overnight. This confirmed it.

He leaned down, slowly, picking up the jacket. 

As he slowly began to stand, so as to avoid another dizzy spell, he noticed the groove of Finn’s body still on the abducted man’s side of the bed. It had been nearly a full day, but it was still there, if only a little bit. Poe knelt, carefully, so as not to disturb the imprint on the mattress, and put his hands close to it.

It wasn’t warm anymore, and within a few hours, the imprint would be gone, perhaps permanently. 

Poe, the jacket in his hand, stared at the groove, wanting to touch it, wanting to crawl on top of it, take in every last scent of Finn’s left, lie atop where his love had lain, share that space. He put the jacket to his face, and he could still smell Finn, just a little bit. 

The smell of his hair, the smell of his sweat when he overheated at night, the smell of his breath…

Poe Dameron put his old jacket on, ruined as it was, so he could be close to Finn one more time, and then, trying not to sleep so his concussion could heal, lay on the bed where Finn had slept beside him so many times.

******

The next few days were a blur to Poe Dameron. 

Professional meetings with the Admiralty. 

Personal meetings with General Organa. 

Writing and filing incident report after incident report. 

Visits from comrades as varied as the still-recovering Scylla Tarkin and Jessika Pava to Oddy Muva (who he had barely seen of late) and people Finn had only met once or twice. 

Eight funeral services, some for people he barely knew. 

Roi Durca. 

Yanna Traeger. 

Noryn Atomol. 

Hun-Tarr Hawl.

Walt Strieb.

Timm Chord.

Ayeighvah Kar-Tar Fahee.

Razer Whilt. 

So many different cultures, so many different types of funeral services. Even so, by the end of it, Poe couldn’t remember one from the other, couldn’t tell them apart. 

Despite that, he felt responsible for all of them. Especially Razer.

Poe hadn’t known Razer long, as the bruiser had spent most of his time on black ops missions, but he’d gotten to know him as well as one could. Though mostly silent, Razer’s actions, non-verbal communication, demeanor, and heroism told Poe everything he needed to know about him. He’d surmised that Razer had seen and experienced a lot in his forty-three years, including the fall of the Empire, the Rise of the First Order, and on and on. He knew that Razer had lost a lot of people on Alderaan when the Empire destroyed it. Friends, family, loved ones. Razer was off-world at the time at a prestigious academy on Naboo, and the guilt never left him. From that point on, even at such a young age, Razer refused to form any long-lasting connections, preferring only to throw himself into his work.

Razer’s service record, read by Admiral Statura at that final funeral service, of Razer’s work with both the Rebellion and the Resistance, is what finally did Poe in. The tears began to fall freely, unceasingly. Even when the service was done, Poe sat kneeling before the marker on his empty grave, crying, and stayed out there, sobbing, even after the rain began to pour.

He began to wonder, through the seemingly unstoppable flow of tears, if he should ask General Organa to plan a funeral service for Finn.

******

Poe didn’t even wait a full two days after Razer’s funeral before trying to get back in the game. The only thing holding him together still was the thought that he could do something, that he could help bring Finn home. He was still grounded until he could pass a psych eval -- something he’d always thought was pointless, considering how many members of the Resistance, from General Organa down to Arla and nearly everyone in between, were motivated by physical and psychological trauma -- but he was going to try his damndest to do what he could to find some way to help get Finn back anyway.

He started by trying to dig for information on Finn, and the fallout from the events on Elom, from his friends in the mess hall. Jess, Snap, and Scylla warned him not to push too hard, not to make himself noticed by command. They wanted him rested up and back in the air as much as anyone else, but if the Admiralty noticed Poe was snooping around, asking questions, they might be inclined to elongate his enforced leave. Poe was furious at his crew, his subordinates, his _friends_ , for not trying to help him, but he understood how the chain of command worked, and Acting Commander Karé Kun was working closely with their superior officers. 

“We’re only doing what we’d be doing if you had given any of us the same orders,” Jess had told Poe. “Trust us, okay?”

He had dropped the subject with them after that, but it hadn’t swayed his determination. He began to keep his ear to the ground, having been on enough covert ops missions that he knew how to draw bits and pieces out of people without raising alarms. 

Over the next few days, Poe was able to uncover a few salient facts: one, that radio chatter indicated the First Order had captured a high-profile traitor, although the reports never indicated a name or a designation. Two, that said traitor was being tortured and reconditioned. Three, that, upon reconditioning, said traitor would be used as an example to any and all potential future traitors; the marks of his torture would be shown, the pain he suffered from betraying would be broadcast throughout the First Order’s bases. This would be the cost of the traitor’s betrayal.

Before his abduction, Finn had expressed to Poe multiple times how the word “traitor” felt like a personal slur against him, like an open wound that the First Order kept pouring salt in. It wasn’t just the word; it was the inflection that every operative, every soldier, every officer in the Order had given it; how it was the _exact_ same inflection every time; how both syllables felt like a personal psychological assault. Poe felt maybe that was their intent, that certain words were uttered certain ways in an attempt to guilt, to hurt, to destroy those who would dare defy Snoke and everything he stood for. He never told Finn, but he always theorized that maybe the guilt infused in every utterance of the word was being used as a form of emotional manipulation, to trick “traitors” like Finn back into the service of the First Order.

So hearing the word again, even getting the merest indication of its utterance with regards to the First Order, completely terrified Poe. The man they’d caught, tortured, rewired...could it have been Finn? 

He hoped not. No, in Poe’s head, Finn was alive, fighting the torture, the drugs, the pain. And that had to be the truth. It just had to be. No, it wasn’t Finn who would be paraded around like a science experiment as the bright new future of compliant First Order human shields. It just...it couldn’t be Finn. He’d resist. 

That’s what the Resistance did, after all. 

Even with all of this gathered knowledge, with the heart-wrecking narrative he’d been able to piece together, Poe still tried to act as he if he had no idea what was going on. Inside, he was dying, rotting away piece by piece. Outside, he put on a healing front peppered with determination and a clear desire to get back in the cockpit. Once or twice he even volunteered to run routine resupply missions for General Organa, who always respectfully dismissed him and reminded him he had yet to clear his psych eval. Whether she knew he was up to something or not, Poe had no idea; he wouldn’t have put it past her, as she’d always been quite adept at reading people, Force-sensitive or not.

The hours turned into days, and new information became scarce. Poe wasn’t sleeping well, but he was doing a good job of pretending he was. He laughed with his friends when he normally would, he told the same sorts of stories he always told, he showered, shaved, and changed his clothing like a well-adjusted adult.

When the time came for his preliminary psych eval, the psychoanalyst, a woman named Doctor Willclare Tempfos from old Theed on Naboo, was suspicious of Poe from the start. She was new to the Resistance, their last resident psychoanalyst having been lost during the destruction of the Hosnian System. She’d heard the stories about Poe Dameron, the adventurous-but-skilled pilot who helped the Resistance find Luke Skywalker. She knew people very well, and knew enough to know when people were playing the “fake it til they make it” card, or were just pretending to be in a different state of mind entirely for any length of time. Doctor Tempfos had seen this behavior in survivors of border skirmishes and planetary civil wars many, many times, but it was most potent, she’d realized, in X-Wing pilots, from both the battle against the Empire and the current struggle against the First Order. 

In Poe Dameron, the post-traumatic stress was as potent as in anyone she’d ever seen.

“So tell me, Commander,” Doctor Tempfos said. “Your last name’s Dameron. Are you related to a Shara Bey?”

Poe stared at her, trying to seem unperturbed, but he was surprised to hear his mother’s name come up this way. Everyone and _their_ mother knew that Poe was Shara Bey’s son, so why would Doctor Tempfos --

A test. It had to be.

“Yeah,” Poe said, an uncontrollable hint of anxiety making his voice quiver. “she was my mother. That should be in my file.” He paused a moment. “Why do you ask?”

Doctor Tempfos had drawn him out of his carefully constructed facade. She’d been right about him.

“I thought so.” She paused. “What was your relationship like with your mother?” she asked, ignoring his question.

“Good. We didn’t have much in the way of money, but she took care of us both. Watched out for us. Protected us. My father did the same.”

“What did you need protecting from, Commander?”

“Just a figure of speech. I was eight years old. The odd chance that a Leviathan grub would pop up? No idea.”

“How did your mother die, Commander?”

“Come on, Doc,” he said, standing. “You know. Everyone knows. Why’re you askin’ me this?”

“I thought it might shine a light on your current situation,” Doctor Tempfos said.

“If you’re trying to compare what happened to my mom to Finn getting captured...tortured by the First Order...and now the...the...they won’t even try to get him back...”

Poe sniffled briefly, then brought back his mask of resolve. But it was as transparent as oxygen now.

“Commander Dameron,” Doctor Tempfos said. “How much of this meeting has been you trying to get yourself cleared for duty prematurely? To get your partner back? To be the Poe Dameron everyone thinks you are?”

Poe’s silence spoke volumes.

“You couldn’t save your mother, Commander,” Doctor Tempfos said. “And you couldn’t save Finn. There was nothing you could do.”

“Doc, I _need_ to be back out there. I have to know. I have to know if he’s alive, if he’s...”

He trailed off.

“Commander,” the Doctor said. “You won’t end up back in a cockpit until you’re ready to work through this. The fact that you’ve put on such a good, strong face for so long, especially amongst those who know you well, is wildly impressive. But you have got to stop this right now. No more faking. No more pretending. You have to be willing to let the emotions out. Let the pain run its course. Understand its purpose, that it _has_ a purpose, and that it’s a natural part of healing. It’s part of the process.”

“The process?” he asked.

“The grieving process.”

Poe looked at her, nodding.

He wanted to say that you couldn’t grieve someone who wasn’t dead, he wanted to tell her how Finn was alive and fighting, but he held his tongue.

“Would you be willing to work with me? To get you back in the cockpit, legitimately ready to get back in the game?”

Poe exhaled and leaned back in his seat, resigned.

“Sure,” he said half-heartedly. “Why not?”

******

Six days. 

Six days of meetings with Doctor Tempfos.

Six days of three hour appointments.

Six days of poking and prodding.

Six days of weeping and breaking down.

Six days of pain and agony, of reliving all of what had happened on Elom, of facing that dark truth.

Six days of waiting.

Doctor Tempfos cleared Poe Dameron for duty after six days. He had passed the final psych evaluation, but would, understandably, still be considered on “mental health probation” for two weeks.

There was a celebration in the mess hall that night welcoming Poe back to active duty. Acting Commander Kun welcomed Poe back first, whispering to him that she was secretly glad he was back in charge, because being Commander of the Resistance’s Starfighter Corps during a relative peace time was, as she put it, “boring as hell.” Snap, Jess, Scylla, and the others all welcomed him back with open arms, and behind the bar Bollie Prindel was making Poe his favorite traditional corn cake from Yavin IV. Even General Organa made an appearance, a rarity for anyone in the Admiralty. She congratulated Poe on passing the evaluation. He offered her a piece of the corn cake, and she accepted with a smile on her face.

After a few moments of joy and levity, she pulled Poe aside. Her face changed expression completely, becoming far more severe. He knew that look. He’d seen it a dozen times.

“What is it, General?” he asked, trying to smile.

“I’m proud of you, Poe,” she said. “It couldn’t have been easy, that uphill struggle. And it’s not over yet. Passing the evaluation means you’re good to fly, good to command, and that’s all well and good. But what you need to know is that every day after this is just as important as the past week. You’ve got to keep going. Remember how important all of this is. How important _you_ are. To all of us. Just keep on your toes, okay? Let us know if we can do anything to help you.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay. Thank you.”

A silence passed between them.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” he asked apprehensively.

Leia nodded, confirming Poe’s fears. Before she even spoke, he knew what it was. He said nothing though, waiting for her to offer information freely.

“It’s...nothing you should really concern yourself with right now, Poe,” she said. “Heavy is the head that once wore the crown, you know?”

She was hiding information from him. His heart began to sink. 

Still, he managed a smile for her. 

“Understood, General,” he said.

“If it’s an issue of note, we’ll let you know.”

Poe nodded. He looked down towards the floor and shuffled his feet. General Organa was choosing her words too carefully for his liking. There was an intentional amount of obfuscation in her phrasing. “An issue of note” could mean anything, he thought. A mission. A security concern. New information about First Order operations. News about Luke and Rey. 

Mostly, he worried it was about the broadcast. If Leia were to see it, and if the reprogrammed trooper was Finn...would she tell him? Would she try to hide it for as long as she could? Did she already know? Would he be allowed to know? And if he were, would he be allowed to try and rescue him? Would the Resistance leadership even think it worth trying?

And it had only been a few weeks. There was no way that was enough time for the reconditioning to have taken, right? No matter how efficient and powerful the First Order’s latest methods could be. Unless it _was_ enough time. Unless they’d found a way to destroy Finn from the inside, to strip him of the things that made him Finn.

No.

Poe couldn’t let himself wander down that path. He didn’t dare.

So instead, he offered this: “Whatever I can do, General, just tell me.”

“I know,” she said, smiling. “Poe Dameron, always ready to do anything for the Resistance. It’s appreciated.”

Poe smiled a bittersweet smile.

She put out her hand. He took it.

“Congratulations, Poe,” she said. “I’m proud of you.”

They shook hands, silently. Leia removed her hand from his and, quietly, turned around and left the mess, heading back to her quarters.

Poe looked on, watching his childhood idol trying to be calm and collected, walk down the hallway, knowing inside that she was just as burdened and terrified as he was.

******

He couldn’t sleep that night. Not really, anyway. He’d fall asleep for ten, fifteen minutes at a time, and when he woke it would always be on Finn’s side of the bed. He tried reading another book that Jess had loaned him, but that didn’t help either. It wasn’t a detective yarn or spy thriller this time, but rather a whimsical story set in an alternate timeline where the Empire never unseated the Old Republic, and centered on a young prodigy who becomes fascinated with the period of the Clone Wars, and alternate timeline’s turning point at Mustafar when Darth Vader was assassinated by Viceroy Nute Gunray while trying to wipe out the remaining Separatist leaders. The young man falls in with a collective of other geniuses and scientists and goes back in time to Mustafar to witness Vader’s death at the hands of Viceroy Gunray, but ends up altering history simply by being there, inadvertently creating the timeline Poe knew all too well. It was hogwash, Poe thought, and not even particularly well-written or structured. Frankly, he thought, it was disrespectful to nearly everyone involved in the wars, even moreso now than ever.

But still, much of that night, in between short intermittent periods of sleep, he thought about what it would be like to go back to Elom.

He thought about all of the things he could have done differently that day. 

A slightly different flight path.

A slightly different wind formation.

A slightly different level of cover in the falling snow.

A slightly different impact, blowing him to pieces.

A slightly different crash site, one that killed him instantly or damaged his X-Wing far less severely.

A slightly different extraction team, or none at all.

A slightly different discovery of his ailing body by that different team.

A slightly different firefight, or none at all, where no one got killed, or even hurt.

A slightly different end to the day, with Poe sacrificing his life for Finn, or Poe bargaining with the stormtroopers, offering himself in Finn’s place, or Poe and Finn boarding _Orchid Mother_ together, virtually unharmed. Or maybe _Leth’s Call_ , in much the same condition.

 _Kriff this_ , Poe thought. 

He sat upright in bed, arms folded, until the morning came, staring into nothing.

******

There was a quiet tension in the mess hall the next morning. Nobody was speaking, for whatever reason. Poe found it odd. Snap was obviously hung over, and Scylla wasn’t exactly fully recovered from the previous night either. Karé Kun stared at her bowl of oatmeal, spoon in hand, looking as though she felt like dying. Oddy Muva looked so nauseated that he probably should still have been in bed. That explained the pilots and others who had joined in the celebration the night before.

But then there was the Resistance leadership.

Admirals Statura and Ackbar sat across from each other, quietly exchanging tense looks over breakfast tea. Major Brance quietly and slowly ate a Felucian fruit bowl, never looking up from his meal. Major Ematt paced tensely just outside the mess doors, and Nien Nunb sat meditating in a corner. 

General Organa wasn’t there.

Poe watched them all from a corner, carefully surveying all of them, checking to see if any of their tells would give away any extra information. The pilots and soldiers were all tired, sick, hungover from the previous night. But the leadership seemed to have their minds elsewhere, and it was serious. 

Just before 0900, all members of the Resistance Command filed out of the mess hall and in the direction of the war room.

Brance was the last to leave.

Poe, in one swift motion, stood as soon as Brance had left the room and, without throwing out his food or cleaning his table, began to follow the leadership unnoticed.

Clearly, something was going on, something big, something the leadership didn’t want Poe knowing about. 

Traditionally, Poe would be involved in these sorts of meetings. The Commander of the Starfighter Corps was generally considered, if not part of the leadership, an essential part of the command structure and inner workings of the Resistance. And that was Poe’s title.

The only reason Poe could think of for them not to involve him, especially given his reinstatement following the recent passing of the psych eval, was the broadcast….and Finn.

Poe stood out of sight for a few minutes, waiting just long enough for Brance to enter the war room and the door to close behind him. After all, the Major had been the last to leave the mess, which made him the easiest way to gauge when the meeting would officially start.

Poe knew in his gut that it was about the broadcast. And if it was about the broadcast, there was a chance, however slight, that it would be about Finn. 

He had to know.

At a clipped pace, Poe walked, full of purpose and fear, towards the war room.

When he got there, he put his ear to the door, terrified but intent.

_“--broadcast live to all major bases and officials in the First Order ten minutes ago.”_

Poe heard the sound of buttons being tapped on a console.

“Major Ematt,” he heard Leia say, “initiate playback.”

Poe steeled himself, clenching his fists in anticipation.

After a moment, he heard the clear sound of a holoprojection starting.

An unfamiliar voice filtered through the door.

_“This is a momentous day for the First Order. Many of you know about the reconditioning experiments we’ve been running on deserters, stormtroopers, officers, and infantry alike. Today, I am proud to say we’ve achieved a complete and total success with one such stormtrooper, who is here with us --”_

Poe pulled away from the door and tried to calm his racing heart. He took a deep breath and pressed his ear back to the door as he thought out the best course of action.

_“--a stormtrooper who fled the Order, thinking he could have a better life outside our way of life. Living the ways of the dying Republic. We found this man on a planet in the Outer Rim Territories. We’d set a trap to find him, as you no doubt will know. He was taken from his new life forcefully, much as he was as a young child. He was tortured for information about his new friends and allies and -- lover.”_

The last word seemed steeped in disgust.

_“Eventually, he gave it freely, begging for the pain to stop. When he broke, we rebuilt his mind from the ground up. In the true way, the way of the First Order.”_

At that, Poe finally reached for the lockpad on the right side of the door and entered a security code that only he and the people gathered in the room knew, hoping his clearance hadn’t been wiped.

The door slid open and Poe saw the projected image of Lieutenant Rodinon, one of General Hux’s underlings, doll-sized, blue, and translucent, projected upon the table in the center of the room.

Suddenly, a Stomtrooper appeared next to Rodinon.

 _Oh, kriff_ , Poe thought. _Please, please, no._

_“He is the first to survive the interrogations. He is the first to survive the experimental drug trials. He is the first to survive the reprogramming, the reconditioning.”_

_The first to….survive? That means...If it isn’t Finn, he might already...he might be..._

The officers all seemed to notice Poe at once, turning their gazes to him as the door swept shut behind him.

“Get him out of here!” Admiral Statura barked. 

Brance and Ematt rushed to his side, each grabbing him by an arm and starting to pull him towards the door. Poe thrashed against them, his eyes never leaving the stormtrooper.

“I’m staying. I have to know, I _deserve_ to know!” Poe insisted, struggling.

_“He is but a shell of his previous rebellious self. He will serve us relentlessly, mercilessly, destroying everything we wish destroyed, conquering everything we wish conquered.”_

“Poe! Leave! Now!” General Organa yelled over the ruckus. Her voice held an edge of distress and her usually stoic face showed signs of worry.

“I’m staying,” Poe said, attempting again to jerk his arms free. “I’m staying!”

 _“Remove your helmet,”_ Rodinon ordered.

Everyone seemed to freeze at the command, their eyes trained on the holoprojection. Poe would see, it was inevitable now, and the Majors’ grips on him loosened slightly as they came to the realization.

 _“Yes, sir,”_ a muffled voice, impossible to identify, replied.

The stormtrooper next to Rodinon slowly began to remove his helmet, and Poe felt his body begin to shake.

Ematt squeezed Poe’s shoulder, as if to say “I’m here for you.”

The stormtrooper removed his helmet, revealing a handsome but unfamiliar face, harsh, with cold eyes and light shortly cropped hair. His face bore a large fresh scar running down his cheek, his right eye strategically left intact. 

_“Ladies and gentlemen, may I present JB-007.”_

Poe’s knees went weak. He began to fall, but Ematt and Brance held him up. 

As he stared at the stormtrooper’s face, he felt the singularly peculiar sensation of hope leaving his body as easily as an exhaled breath.

He felt as if he had just witnessed Finn being dragged away all over again. His heart broke. He barely noticed the sympathetic eyes of the collected officers resting on him.

******

Finn awoke suddenly, gasping.

He was strapped to a table, unsure of where he was, if he was even still on Elom or somewhere new. The table, much like the room he was in, was cold, metallic, unfeeling. The iron manacles that were seemingly part of the table held tight to his skin, close to cutting off his circulation.

He looked around. There were no stormtroopers guarding him, and the room was filled with the pulsating glow of a menacing, yet somehow warm, red light. The troopers, Finn surmised, would likely be stationed outside of the room while they waited for the interrogator to arrive, or whoever it was they were anticipating.

Without warning, the doors opened, bathing Finn momentarily in white light.

For several seconds no one entered, and then the threshold was consumed by the presence of a man Finn had learned to hate mercilessly in his time as a stormtrooper: Lieutenant Rodinon of the First Order.

“FN-2187,” Rodinon said. “It’s been awhile. Welcome back to the First Order.”

“My name is Finn,” the Resistance fighter replied with conviction. He hoped he sounded braver than he felt.

“My dear, dear boy,” Rodinon said, removing his leather gloves slowly. “When we’re through with you, you won’t know yourself from any of the other stormtroopers in the Order. That…‘name’, you called it...will be a thing of the past.”

Rodinon strode forward and took Finn’s face in his hands, lightly stroking his chin as he did so. 

“You’ve fought for months,” Rodinon said. “Valiantly, some might even say. But we knew it had to be you. The information you had, the targets your gang of misfits attacked, well...did you think we wouldn’t piece it together? You knew how it was, my boy. It was only a matter of time before Captain Phasma issued the order to bring you home.”

“This is not my home,” Finn said.

He locked eyes with the lieutenant before spitting in his face.

Rodinon slapped him hard across the cheek, making his ears ring.

“Oh, dear me. I may be wrong,” he said, wiping off his face with the sleeve of his uniform. “There could still be some fight in you. What fun.” He paused for a moment, chuckling to himself, then continued: “Oh, what fun, indeed.”

He pressed a button on a nearby console and the door to the room shut. The white light was gone, and Finn was once again was surrounded by the harsh red light of the interrogation room.

“I do think the fun will mostly be mine, though,” Rodinon said, smiling to himself. He opened a compartment on his belt and removed a tool that Finn thought looked like pliers. 

Rodinon clenched and unclenched the pliers, opening them wide, shutting them, opening them wide, again and again and again. 

“Now,” Rodinon offered with a grin. “Where to begin?”


	6. Softly Watching You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Finn's coma, he and Poe start getting to know each other. Sexual tension, flirtatious nights, and a first kiss ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "If I Ever Leave This World Alive" by Flogging Molly  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tVPTu4l6OnE
> 
> -mooyani
> 
> “Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K_PQ4fRQ5Kc
> 
> -Ziggy_Quill_Blackstarlord

Sometimes Finn woke up, smiling, knowing that he’d dreamt something about Poe but never quite remembering what it was. He got an indication of the dreams’ content, though, when he realized he’d awoken rock hard.

He wondered if the pilot felt the same way. If he was attracted to him at all. Sure, Poe was playful, jovial, and they shared so much together, but Poe flirted with everyone, was playful with everyone, was physically affectionate with everyone. Finn had never had to worry about reading signs before, but now he often worried he was misreading the ones coming from Poe.

He decided to ask around, as subtly as he could, if Poe was unattached or interested in someone, and see how it went.

One day, he was sitting with Snap and Pava in the mess hall before Poe arrived for lunch, and decided then was as good a time as any.

“So what’s Poe’s deal?” he asked during a lull in conversation, doing his best to sound casual. “He seeing someone?” 

Snap chuckled to himself then wiped his mouth with a napkin before answering.

“Several someones, probably,” he said, still laughing to himself. “Or -- wait, do you mean just today?”

“Don’t be a dick, Snap,” Pava shot back. “You know Poe isn’t that bad.” She turned her attention back to Finn. “A lot of people here aren’t exactly interested in commitment. The sort of lives we lead, you never know when, or if, you or that other person will be coming home, or if they’ll be shot down by a TIE Fighter or find themselves bleeding out on a battlefield on Rakata. We just don’t know.”

“Huh,” Finn said, taking a bite of Funge-bread. He hadn’t put a lot of thought into what this sort of interaction was like on base, but he guessed her explanation kind of made sense to him. 

Pava smiled kindly at him. She was perceptive enough to see past Finn’s facade of aloofness, though she kept it to herself.

Snap, of course, was oblivious, even after Jess looked directly at Finn and said “Besides, I don’t think he’s even slept with anyone since before Starkiller Base.”

Finn was surprised by that. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. 

Snap jolted him out of his thoughts before he could overanalyze.

“Hey, where is Dameron, anyway? He’s usually here by now.”

“Probably meeting with the General or something,” Pava said.

Pava and Snap had no idea why, but Finn lit up at that moment. Behind them Poe had entered the mess hall, smiling and holding his finger to his lips.

Quietly, deftly, he popped up behind the two pilots as Finn tried to hide a grin from appearing on his face, knowing full well what was about to happen.

Poe put his hands over both Pava and Snap’s eyes.

“Guess who?” he asked.

Snap pushed Poe’s hand away, and Pava laughed as Poe removed his hand from her face.

Poe walked around the table and plopped down next to Finn, their thighs touching once again. Finn felt his stomach flip and his blood begin to rush below his belt but ignored it.

“What’s goin’ on? You guys talking about me? What I miss?”

When Poe looked at him Finn smiled, and before long, all nervousness was forgotten, the four of them laughing and sharing stories until the mess hall was emptied for cleaning.

******

Several nights later, Finn found himself in the hallway outside Poe’s quarters after dinner, laughing at a story the pilot was animatedly telling him.

“-- and he ate it anyway!”

Finn threw his head back, cackling, his eyes squeezed shut against the tears of laughter forming.

When he opened his eyes, Poe was staring at him with bright eyes, his bottom lip between his teeth.

“...what?” Finn asked nervously.

“Anyone ever tell you you look gorgeous when you laugh?” Poe asked.

He took a step towards Finn.

Finn felt his face getting hot. Though their other interactions had seemed ambiguous and confusing to him, he was pretty sure this was a sign. 

“No…” he said softly. His gaze was locked with Poe’s.

The pilot took another step forward, and another, until they were almost nose to nose. Finn’s heart was pounding.

“Finn…” Poe started, his voice low. “Can I kiss you?”

Finn didn’t even respond. Without thinking, he put his hands on either side of Poe’s face and pulled him forward, pressing their lips together. Poe let out a surprised groan, his eyes closing and his hands flying to Finn’s hips. He pushed Finn backwards, backing him up against the hallway wall, then hiked the younger man’s leg up around his waist with his right hand. Finn parted his lips and their tongues collided desperately as he tangled his hands into Poe’s hair. Poe pressed his hips forward against Finn’s, eliciting a hiss from the younger man at the friction. He could feel how hard Finn was against him, straining against fabric. 

The sound of footsteps from around the corner snapped Finn back to reality. He pulled away from the kiss and put his hands on Poe’s chest, pushing him away gently. Poe got the message and let go of him, took a step back, and ran a hand through his hair. He was breathing heavily and he looked flustered.

A radar technician rounded the corner a second later and walked by without even looking at them, then a few seconds later disappeared around another corner.

Poe stepped forward again once the man was gone and put his hand on the wall next to Finn’s head, smirking suggestively.

“Do you want to move this to my room?”

Finn felt panicked suddenly. He wanted this, he’d been dreaming about this for weeks now, but he felt nervous and embarrassed by his inexperience. That had been his first kiss, a fact that he was praying Poe hadn’t guessed somehow; the idea of following him into his room terrified him, even if it made his dick throb at the same time. 

_ Kriffing hell. _

“I...uh…” Finn stammered, stepping to the side and beginning to move around Poe. “I have to go, I told Jess I’d help her with something.”

He hurried off without looking back, leaving Poe standing alone with his hand still on the wall, looking confused and frustrated as hell.

******

The next time they saw each other was the following night in the mess hall. A few hours after dinner had ended, Finn had gone to join the group of pilots drinking and rough-housing in the common area. He was happy to find Poe there, despite the awkward exit the night before. He was sitting near the edge of the table-long bench, Jess to his right and Snap across the table from him, other pilots gathered around at surrounding tables, laughing and talking, drinks in hand. When Poe saw Finn, he straightened up nervously and turned his head away quickly, suddenly very interested in his conversation with Snap. Finn took a deep breath and walked over, worried that Poe was upset about being left hanging the previous night.

Poe, for his part, was just as worried that Finn was upset with him, though he hid it well.

Finn sat down next to Poe at the end of the table, their legs touching on the crowded bench. As soon as Finn sat down, Poe relaxed significantly.

Finn felt at ease surrounded by others, knowing there was no opportunity for the previous night to come up. They’d talk about it later, he was sure, but for the moment he was glad just to have a reprieve and the chance to enjoy Poe’s company free of complications. The contact between them seemed to calm both men down. Their mutual anxiety turned into a comfortable and familiar calm almost instantly.

The rest of the night seemed to take its cue from that moment of calm. If they could have bottled the moment, the four of them would have, saving it for a sad, rainy day, or a particularly rough mission. 

That night, Finn realized the depths of these people’s shared histories, and it made him feel welcome. Whatever happened from now on, he would be able to share in these stories -- and the making of new ones -- with his new companions. His new family.

He learned how a sixteen-year-old Snap, on the orders of Admiral Ackbar, had to pass himself off as an impartial Outer Rim pilot in order to pass through Imperial space. How he had captured a Grand Moff by the name of Bravis. How he narrowly evaded capture when the Imperial officers who boarded his ship and questioned just didn’t bother to check the cargo hold that held their bound and gagged superior officer, who, of course, was cursing them out through the rag shoved into his mouth.

He learned how, as a young girl, Jess had been enthralled by the mythic figure of Luke Skywalker. She was hooked on the stories of his heroic deeds as both a pilot and a Jedi. When she heard the call of the Resistance, it was irresistible.

He learned about the special gift that Skywalker had given Poe’s parents as a thank you when they retired to Yavin IV. How the stories of their adventures fighting the Empire always inspired Poe to look to the sky, stars in his eyes, flying in his heart. 

As Poe had told his story, Finn found himself staring at the other man without realizing it, completely engrossed.

He was brought out of it when Jess asked if he had any stories that he would want to share. 

He glanced away from Poe instinctively as a sense of discomfort overtook him. 

“No, not really,” he said. “I mean, I was with the Order for most of my life. I don’t remember my parents. The rest of it, you guys pretty much know.”

“There must have been a reason you left, something that pushed you over the edge,” Snap said.

Finn didn’t blink. He nodded quickly.

“Yeah,” he said. “I...lost someone. A friend. I’d wanted to escape for a while, but...y’know, that clinched it. That’s actually where I first saw Poe.”

Poe turned his head to look at Finn, suddenly worried. “Wait, where was this?”

“On Jakku, when you were captured.”

Poe stared at him, looking like he’d been struck. 

He was the one who had pulled the trigger on Finn’s friend.

“You were the Stormtrooper who didn’t fire,” he said slowly. “You had blood all over your helmet.”

An awkward, still moment passed between the group.

“Can we talk about something else?” Finn asked.

The group agreed unanimously, Jess, Snap, and Poe each trying to bring up another topic simultaneously.

They all laughed.

“Snap, you first,” Jess said. 

“Poe,” Snap said, “you’ll never guess who I ran into on that supply run to the Horuset system last week.”

“Oh no, no no no, don’t tell me,” Poe said.

“Vik Val-Rikard,” Snap said.

“Snap, I don’t want to hear this.”

“Oh, I think you do,” Snap said.

“No, no I don’t,” Poe said, awkwardly peeking at Finn through his peripheral vision.

“Who’s Vik Val-Ricard?” Finn asked Jess.

“Poe’s ex,” Jess replied, taking a sip from her drink to avoid any more uncomfortable questions.

“And boy,” Snap said, “did he ever let himself go. He’s not fat, that’s not what I mean. I mean he’s just...man, he’s sort of out of it. I don’t know what happened to that dude.”

Poe sighed, then asked reluctantly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, he’s just...he seemed like he was completely kriffed up. Just out of it, all the time. Seeing things. I dunno, Banthazolate, probably. He kept calling me ‘Dogen’ and talking about how I smelled like a Tusken raider.”

“Well, he’s right about the second part,” Poe said.

“Kriff you,” said Snap. 

“Not even if you begged me.”

After some shared laughter, there was a pause.

“Who’s Dogen?” Finn asked.

Jess nursed her drink, gazing down at the table.

There was another pause, this one awkward and uncomfortable.

“Dogen, was, uh --” Snap started.

“No one important.” Poe said, cutting him off. He turned back to Snap. “Do you have any idea when he started using like that?”

“No clue,” Snap said.

Poe, looking concerned, put his hand on his face.

“When did Dogen leave him?”

It dawned on Finn almost immediately. Poe and Vik had been together, like Jess said. And then Vik was with Dogen. Finn assumed that there were probably complications involved, having to do with Vik and fidelity. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Over the course of the conversation, it came out that Vik and Dogen had both been pilots in the Resistance, but had quit the life for something they thought was just a little safer: smuggling “spices”.

About eight months after they’d left, they were vacationing on a corporate-owned resort planet. While Vik was winning big at the Sabacc tables, Dogen left with another man.

The kicker was that Vik and Dogen had just bought a home together on Pernella. From what Finn could piece together, Vik and Poe had once talked about living their lives out on Pernella when the war was over. 

Finding out all of this in this way had made Finn feel more than a little awkward. He felt like an intruder, some sort of spy peering into someone else’s life. He felt...well, he felt like a Stormtrooper at a Resistance party, always on the outside, looking in. A man out of place.

Poe’s mouth his went into a strange almost-frown when Snap finally stopped talking. “He said Pernella, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Jess looked at Poe sympathetically.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Poe,” Snap said. “You been to Pernella lately? Place looks like it came out of the ass-end of a Toydarian.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Poe said. “Still. Sore spot.”

“He said to send his best,” Snap said.

Poe lightened up and shrugged.

“Eh, he can keep it,” he said, inching just a little closer to Finn, their legs pressing against one another. “I’m better off now, anyway.”

He flashed Finn a quick smile that Finn could have easily missed if he weren’t paying such close attention to Poe. Finn smiled back, feeling considerably better. A wonder, he thought, how such a small token of affection could change even the worst mood.

Poe looked at Jess, desperate for a subject change.

“What about you, what were you going to say earlier?” he asked.

Bollie Prindel appeared at that moment, a collection of shots on a tray in his hands, setting them down in the middle of the table.

Jess gave him a thumbs up, and he smiled.

“Kriffin’ shots, that’s what!” she said.

“I like how you think,” Poe said.

Each pilot took three shots from the tray and put them in front of them. Finn did the same.

“You ever done shots before, Finn?” Snap asked.

“No,” Finn said. 

“You’ll do fine, buddy,” Poe said, clapping Finn on the shoulder and letting his hand linger there for a bit. “I’ve seen you drink before.  Just follow my lead.”

Snap, Jess, and Poe each picked up the first of their shots, Finn following suit.

“To victory,” Poe toasted.

“To victory,” the others repeated, Finn coming in last.

Jess, Snap, and Poe all immediately downed their first shot, Finn following close behind. He screwed up his face at the taste.

He watched, surprised, when the others immediately chased down their first shot with a second, and then a third.

_ Kriff _ , Finn thought.  _ This may take some getting used to. _

The pilots put their third glasses down, all but Finn slamming them down on the table. Poe was the first to speak, his face contorting into a malformed portrait of disgust.

“Oh...oh man, that was...that was awful,” he said.

“I think it was fermented in a Sarlaac pit,” Jess said.

“I don’t...I can’t...dammit all,” Snap spat out, “I’m gonna be sick if I drink anything more.”

Finn’s hand brushed against Poe’s as he set his glass down. Poe’s hand lingered where it was, neither of them moving for a long moment.

Finn turned his head as he felt a blush rising in his cheeks, then pulled his hand back, faking the need to scratch the back of his head.

“The aftertaste keeps getting worse,” Jess said. 

Several minutes passed as the group finished off the rest of the tray between jokes and banter. Finn finished two more shots before deciding he was done.

“Poe Dameron,” Snap said during a lull, a little too loudly for the taste of anyone around him, pointing at the other pilot as he called him out. “You owe me an arm-wrestlin’ match!” 

The alcohol was clearly starting to hit him.

“You sure you want to do this again?” Poe asked the larger and somehow drunker man, raising an eyebrow.

“What, scared to embarrass yourself in front of the new guy?” Snap shot back, grinning.

Jess laughed uncontrollably. 

Finn looked on, chuckling  quietly. He’d learned to enjoy alcohol since joining the Resistance, but he’d never gotten this drunk this quickly. His head was spinning slightly and he was unsure when he had started to lean against Poe.

“Alright, let’s do this,” Poe said. “Standard rules. You can only use the one hand. Other grips mine under the table to make sure you don’t cheat.”

“You flirt,” said Snap.

“Shut up and let me kick your ass,” said Poe. He looked over at Jess, then Finn. “You two, get up. We’re doin’ this regulation style.”

“I go up against the winner!” Jess shouted as she and Finn stood up, a competitive gleam in her eye.

“I’ll be ready for you,” Poe boasted.

Snap put his elbow on the table, leaving his palm open. Poe grasped Snap’s right hand with his, then clasped the other one under the table. Finn watched, part of him wishing he were Snap right then.

Jess noticed his stare.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “It’s just to keep the other in check. Make sure no one breaks the rules.” She patted him on the shoulder. 

“Thanks, Jess,” Finn said, unsure how else to respond. Was he that obvious?

Jess flashed him a drunken smile as Snap and Poe prepped themselves.

“You ready?” Snap asked.

“Are you?” Poe responded, smirking back.

“Do I have to answer that?”

The two men counted down to five in unison, and the match began.

Snap seemed to have the upper hand. 

“Oh, oh, you’re beating me,” Poe said, in a dry monotone as Snap’s larger hand and brute force seemed to overcome him. “I’ll never be able to come back from this, oh no.”

Poe turned, looked at Finn and winked. By the time Finn wondered what the hell Poe was doing, distracting himself while he was losing, Poe had already turned his attention back to Snap. Poe’s hand overcame the larger man’s, slamming it into the table, a look of surprise and pain mixing into one on Snap’s face. He tried fighting back, but there was no use. It was over. Poe was stronger and they both knew it.

“Kriff you, Dam’ron,” Snap grumbled as he vacated his spot.

“Aww, don’t be a sore loser, Wexley,” Poe said. 

Jess moved to take the empty spot.  Poe gave Finn what he hoped was a subtle smile. 

“You up for somea this after I kick her butt, Finn?”

Jess held out her hand to Poe.

“Poe, stop flirting with the newbie and  let me break you in two.”

Finn blushed and looked away.

When he looked back again, Poe and Jess had already counted down and were both sweating, equally struggling against the other. 

A bewildered Snap stood next to Finn, transfixed by the match, mumbling to himself about strength, how he’s stronger than both of them put together..

Finn tried his best not to laugh at him.

Both Jess and Poe’s faces turned red as the veins on their faces began to bulge with the effort.

Soon, the other pilots and troopers in the room began to gather around the heated, deadlocked match. Some began betting.

“Twenty credits on Dameron!”

“Please. Twenty-five on Pava. You’ll see how delusional you are.”

“I will cook for my entire squadron for a week if Pava loses.”

“Rounds for everyone if Dameron loses.”

The assembled Resistance members, about two dozen in total, gathered around the table and began to call out more and more absurd bets over one another, but a harsh look from Jess silenced them all.

After a moment or two, their arms began to tremble.

After another moment, it looked like either could buckle at any second.

In the end, Pava’s hand suddenly snapped backwards and hit the table with a thud. 

“Good match, Jess.” Poe said, massaging his hand.

“I’ll get you next time,” she responded, laughing.

Those who’d bet on Poe celebrated, while the others were sullen and quiet. Jessika stood in defeat, joining Snap and Finn, folding her arms as she did so.

Poe, empowered by his second consecutive victory, stood, arms raised.

“Undisputed champion and victor Poe Dameron, ladies and gentlemen!” he cried, grinning.

“Oh yeah?” Finn asked. “You’re not undisputed yet.”

The ex-stormtrooper stepped forward and took the empty seat across from Poe.

They leaned forward towards each other across the table, their faces close together for the first time since the night before.

“You really wanna do this, Finn?” Poe asked, not even noticing he was licking his lips.

He was almost whispering, and the sexual tension between the two was palpable.

Finn was surprised at himself, with his thoughts, his reactions. He found Poe’s assertive aggression sexy, especially as the other man bit his lower lip.

“I  _ really _ do,” Finn said in response, inching closer to Poe.

“Think you got what it takes to beat me?” Poe asked, a bright spark of desire in his eyes. 

Finn’s breath caught as Poe smiled wickedly at him.

“You’re going down, flyboy,” he told Poe, smirking back.

Poe inched closer, whispering directly into Finn’s ear.

“Maybe later,” he said, his words tickling Finn’s skin.

He pulled back from the younger man’s ear and winked at him when they locked eyes again.

“ _ Damn, Dameron! Get a room! _ ” someone yelled from the crowd. Laughter swelled around them.

Finn, flustered, shook his head, trying to pull himself together. He’d never...interacted like that with anyone before. He didn’t know if it was the alcohol releasing his inhibitions, or the freedom to finally be himself, whoever that might be. Whatever the case, whatever the cause, he liked it. And whoever he was becoming, well, he liked  _ that _ , too.

Confidently, he dropped his elbow down onto the tabletop and put his opposite hand under the table.

Out of sight from the crowd, Poe’s hand slowly, tenderly, brushed against Finn’s, gently caressing every part of the palm, each of his fingers.

Finn was caught off guard. Was Poe trying to lull him into a false sense of security so he could beat him? Was he taking advantage of the moment to, despite the crowded mess hall, create an intimate moment for the two of them? Was he just drunk and unaware of how he was touching him?

All these thoughts and feelings raced through the very core of Finn’s being, and he realized that this, tenderness below, fight above...that that was Poe Dameron in a nutshell. On the outside, he was tough, a fighter, a fearless pilot, almost a warrior god. But beneath all that, the true Poe Dameron, was kind, sensitive, loving, gentle, concerned. A loving friend. A great soldier. Someone you’d want on your side no matter what the situation. 

Finn realized that Poe was looking downward, as if he, too, were contemplating the moment.

When Poe felt Finn’s eyes on him, he looked up, making direct eye contact.

“You ready?”

Finn choked back a “yes”.

Poe reached out his right hand to Finn, slowly, and Finn moved his closer to Poe’s.

As their hands locked above the table, so too did their hands lock below.

Finn had never felt so connected to another person before.

The two men locked eyes and counted down in unison.

For a moment, neither man moved. Each had their eyes locked upon the other’s.

The mess hall was silent.

And then, simultaneously, the two began to have it out with all the rawness and intensity of a lightsaber battle. 

Finn and Poe seemed evenly matched, and even Snap was taken aback by Finn’s obvious strength.

“I didn’t expect this from Finn,” Snap said to Jess, downing another shot that had been handed to him. “He’s just so kind. Gentle. He always seems so  small.”

Jess laughed at him. 

“First of all, I’m cutting you off,” she said, drinking from a glass of Retsa. “And secondly, you  _ know _ the kid is ripped. He was trained to be a stormtrooper, remember? And Rey said he held his own against Kylo Ren pretty damn well. He’s a fighter. And a damn strong one at that.”

Snap looked at her, smiling. “You wanna take the newbie out for a spin, don’t you?”

“HA!” she laughed, finding the accusation hilarious. “No, he’s...not quite my type.”

She wanted to add “But I know someone who would  _ love _ to,” but, even intoxicated, she kept it to herself.

At the table, Poe began to waver, realizing once how strong Finn really was.

He started to lose his ground.

_ I’m going to lose _ , Poe thought.  _ To the rookie. The strong rookie. The...really good-looking strong rookie.. _

Poe inhaled through his nose, almost huffing and puffing as he tried to regain his concentration.

“Scared to lose, Dameron?” Finn whispered.

“What do I get if I win?” Poe asked back, quiet but flirtatious. “Start thinking.”

At the exact moment that Poe finished speaking, Finn slammed his opponent’s hand down hard on the table.

Poe stared into Finn’s eyes, drinking them, and the rest of him, in. Finn had beat him fair and square. He felt something stirring below his waist.

Finn smiled as cheers rose up from the gathered crowd. He was victorious. And he had shown Poe just how strong he really was. He wasn’t sure why that mattered so much to him, but came to the quick conclusion that maybe Poe would like it.

Amidst the cacophony, Finn leaned over to Poe, speaking quietly against his ear.

“What was that?” Finn asked Poe. “What do  _ you _ get if  _ you _ win?”

Poe, flabbergasted but aroused, was at a loss. “I, uh, may have overestimated my chances,” he said, flustered.

Finn leaned back and looked at him, smiling. “You’ll get a shot at a rematch someday...Commander.”

Finn stood up to a tumult of applause from the mess hall.

Pilots clapped him on the back, soldiers grabbed his shoulder and shook him, even Bollie Prindel flashed him a smile.

Finn couldn’t stop grinning. He’d never encountered this much affection before, and he never wanted it to stop.

He looked back towards Poe, who was still sitting, smiling over at him. Poe shifted where he sat, crossing his legs. He waved at Finn, calling him over.

“Siddown,” Poe said when Finn walked over. “That was some display.”

Finn, excited but nervous, sat down next to Poe.

“I’m impressed,” Poe continued. 

He motioned for Finn to scoot closer to him.

Finn inched in closer and Poe reached out to take his hand in his, intertwining their fingers. Their legs rubbed up against each other on the bench, and they both felt an electricity between the two of them. Something beyond just undeniable chemistry.

“I’m flattered,” Finn said, looking down at their hands, cherishing the moment, the first time he ever saw their fingers interlocked.

He smiled at Poe. His body felt warm, everything softened by the alcohol. He felt...happy.

“Listen,” Poe began, “Finn, I wanted to --”

At that exact moment, only twenty or so feet from them, Snap Wexley doubled over and vomited all over the mess hall floor.

“Kriff,” Finn said, scrunching up his face.

Across the room, Bollie Prindel sighed.

“That is...a lot of vomit,” Poe said.

Jess suddenly appeared in front of them.

“Hey guys, I’m sorry to interrupt, but will one of you help me get Snap back to the barracks? I think he’s stayed up a bit past his bedtime.”

With a little sigh, Finn nodded. 

“I’ll help.”

He squeezed Poe’s hand tightly.

“Later,” he said to Poe, smiling.

Slowly, he removed his hand from Poe’s, and stood. Finn felt almost pained, having to remove himself from the other man.

As Finn walked over to Snap, Jess lingered behind, giving Poe a knowing look.

“Sooooooo?” she asked, teasingly, half-drunk.

Poe replied, quietly so that Finn couldn’t hear.

“I am going to do amazing things to that man. Amazing, terrible things...” 

“You realize,” Jess said, “that you just said that out loud.”

“Jess,” Poe sighed, “go help them.”

“You should, too,” Jess said.

“I, um, I would, but, uh…” Poe uncrossed then recrossed his legs. “I’m feeling a little dizzy right now.”

“Awwww, Poe’s got a widdle crush,” she teased.

“Pava?”

“Yeah?”

“Please shut up.”

Pava straightened up, offering a faux salute to Poe.

“Yes, sir, Commander, sir!” She giggled loudly. “I guess I’ll go help Darth Drunkstar over there,” she said, gesturing to Snap who now had an arm around Finn and was leaning heavily on him.

“Good idea,” Poe said.

As Jess headed towards them, Finn looked back at Poe, who was looking right back at him.

They exchanged a smile, and then a wave, right before Jess put Snap’s free arm around around her shoulder and helped prop him up. The two slowly remove him from the mess and headed down the hall towards the barracks.

Poe watched them go, watched  _ Finn _ go, and was overcome by both physical and emotional sensations. He felt an inexplicable lightness that he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years, as his lower body experienced a constant, borderline sore throbbing that he now thought he may have indulged a bit too much before he met Finn. 

Before any of it meant anything. Before things had started to make sense.

When Finn and the others had rounded the corner to the barracks, Bollie made the announcement for last call.

Poe crossed and uncrossed his legs again, and ordered some Honeycrust from the kitchen before they closed. He hoped he’d be alright to leave the mess by the time he’d finished the dessert. He already knew he’d be dreaming of Finn that night.


	7. Torn to the Flesh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe begins to break down as the days without Finn wear on, every choice he makes being riskier and more dangerous than the last. Meanwhile, Finn begins to undergo torture and interrogation at the hands of Lieutenant Rodinon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Brother" by The Organ  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rvwibh35GI4
> 
> \- mooyani
> 
> “Day Is Gone” by Noah Gundersen & The Forest Rangers  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ke92CDVQsb8
> 
> \- Ziggy_Quill_Blackstarlord

Lieutenant Rodinon sat deep in thought, staring out a portal window of a Star Destroyer. He’d been assigned an office and quarters on board as he oversaw the “retrieval and reconditioning” project that had seen such great success with JB-007. The project had been lauded, Rodinon’s success with the first deserter met with commendations from Captain Phasma herself.

Rodinion had only had a handful of sessions with FN-2187, but he already could tell the prisoner had more fight in him than JB-007 ever did. He knew it would be a challenge to recondition the treacherous stormtrooper, but the thought made him giddy. The ones who held out the longest were the most fun to finally break. 

A knock on his office door tore him from his fantasies.

“Enter.”

The door slid open. An ambitious young officer, a redheaded woman from Coruscant, approached Rodinon, cautious and slightly guarded. 

“Sir,” she said, holding a recording in her hand. “You really ought to see this. It was recovered from the site of the X-Wing crash on Elom.”

He turned his chair around slowly so he was facing her. 

The young officer, Sergeant Torps, seemed to be waiting for a cue. When he offered her nothing beyond a disapproving stare, she cleared her throat nervously and pressed a button on the device she was holding.

A hologram appeared in the space between them. Poe Dameron, weathered, freezing, wounded. Bleeding. _Exactly as Resistance scum ought to be_ , Rodinon thought.

“ _This is Commander Poe Dameron,_ ” the recording spoke. “ _I was shot down on Elom over a First Order base, doing recon--_ ”

Rodinon spoke over the recording.

“Skip to the important part, Sergeant. I have important work to do.”

“Yes, sir,” Torps said. She pressed another button, fast forwarding for a moment, then pressed play again.

“ _\--and that, in the end_ ,” Poe continued, “ _you’re happy. And Finn…_ ” Poe coughed, freezing in the icy, frozen desert of Elom. “ _Hey, buddy. I, uh, kriff. I hate that this...that this is the last thing you might ever see of me. I just...I want you to know that, despite the coma, despite this crash, despite all the long nights away from each other during missions, despite all of that...knowing you, being with you...has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Kriff, Finn, I am so sorry. I just...I want you to be happy, too, like I told Snap and Jess, and whatever happens to me, to you, to the Resistance, to this war...you, of all people...you deserve a happy ending._ ” Poe coughed again. Understanding was dawning on Rodinon, but the rest of the recording made it clear, if it wasn’t already obvious: “ _I love you, Finn. Kriff, I love you so much. I was -- I am -- so proud, so happy, to call you mine. I. Love. You. Always remember that. You...you made everything worth it. Everything_.”

“Pause it, Sergeant.”

Rodinon frowned, disgusted by these revelations. Had this stormtrooper, this officer of the First Order, really engaged in relations with...with a Resistance pilot? And someone so dedicated and loyal to his cause as Poe Dameron? The thought of it nearly made him vomit.

He composed himself. The recording would not be permitted to make it to its intended audience. FN-2187’s days playing at being a rebel were over.

“Sergeant Torps,” he said to the young woman, holding back his bile. “Destroy this recording.”

******

Rodinon entered the chamber where Finn was being held when he was awake, shackled to the upright table like some sort of depraved art installation.

Finn, noticing the intrusion, groggily opened his eyes. He was in poor shape, bruised, sleep deprived, weak. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there. He’d been dragged back and forth from his cell to the chamber every few hours. His inner clock and his sleep cycle were all off.

Three of the fingers on his left hand were beginning to clot from when Rodinon had removed the fingernails with pliers two days earlier. Rodinon had gotten bored with that interrogation tactic almost immediately, and began pursuing other methods that captivated him more.

Still, Finn hadn’t broken.

“What now, Rodinon?” he asked, mustering up what little energy he had. “You want to gloat? How the big, bad First Order has me right where they want me? If I could care, I would.”

Rodinon smiled. It was a terrifying grin that frightened Finn, nearly shaking his steely resolve.

“Oh,” Rodinon said, joining his hands together behind his back, “but that’s just the problem. You _do_ care. You care quite a bit.”

Finn raised his eyebrow, worried.

“Alright, you cocky son of a bitch,” Finn said, defiantly. “What is it you think you know about me?” 

“‘Think’?” Rodinon asked, gambling just a little bit. “Oh, my, no. I _know_ . I know _everything_ , my boy. You know, I’m curious. Just wondering, really...how long were you and Poe Dameron lovers? Before what happened on Elom?”

Finn’s tough exterior, his gritted teeth and iron-clad jaw, gave way as he stared in shock. _How did he know?_ The thought that Poe had escaped, that he had survived Elom, that all of his pain meant something, that was all that had been sustaining Finn. He felt his eyes well up with tears, and he had no way to control them.

Rodinon slowly stepped forward, a wicked grin on his face, a smile so menacing and vile that Emperor Palpatine himself would have felt concerned.

“What is the location of the Resistance’s base?” Rodinon asked.

“No,” Finn replied.

“Very well,” Rodinon said. “If that’s how it’s going to be.”

Rodinon reached for the taser baton at his belt and slowly pulled it out of its sheath.

“You’re familiar with this, yes?” he asked.

Finn nodded slowly, eyeing the weapon.

“Such a splendid device, really,” Rodinon said. “Remarkably simple. Terribly efficient. Have you ever seen the effects it has on a body after prolonged, continuous, sequential use?”

Finn shook his head.

“It’s truly a sight to behold,” Rodinon confessed, grinning. “If you’re lucky, you might lose consciousness. If not, you’ll get to experience seeing your skin bubble and peel off.  You may experience a cardiac episode, which would certainly not be convenient for you, or for what we have planned for you. The brain’s signals to the body can often become...mixed up. You may try to scratch your forehead, but poke yourself in the eye instead. Seizures,” he concluded, “are not uncommon. It’s really quite fun.”

Suddenly, with the speed of a comet, Rodinon jabbed the taser baton into Finn’s side, causing him to convulse. He pulled away after several seconds and watched with glee as Finn struggled to find air.

“What is the location of the Resistance’s base?”

Finn’s silence, his resilience, still held, despite the shock to his body.

In that moment, Rodinon realized that the real work was not behind him with JB-007, but ahead of him with FN-2187. If he was able to break this traitor -- this traitor who had turned to the Resistance and had taken one of them to bed -- the future could be bright for him. Maybe an official commendation. He might even be _Captain_ Rodinon by the end of all this.

Smiling, he jabbed the baton into Finn’s side again, and this time, Finn couldn’t help it. He screamed.

It was the sort of scream that would set someone’s blood on fire, if they cared about the pain of others.

“Tell me,” Rodinon said when Finn was done screaming. “What is the location of the Resistance’s base?”

Finn didn’t respond for a long moment, panting and shivering against his restraints.

When his body began to calm, he looked back up, forcing a smile to his lips.

“You know, I know what it’s like, man. I really do. But I feel like the sooner you and General Hux go back to licking Captain Phasma’s boots, the happier we’ll all be, y’know?”

Finn laughed.

“Charming,” Rodinon said, dryly.

“Seriously, though, Rodey. You’ve got a long way to go if that’s the kind of intel you’re after.”

“Maybe,” Rodinon said. “But at least one of us will enjoy this.”

He jabbed the baton into Finn’s side again.

Finn’s screams filled the corridors of the Star Destroyer, echoing off the cold, steel walls.

 ********** ****

Above all else, Poe Dameron had always defined himself as a pilot first, and everything else second. The Resistance knew how lucky they were to have him, and he knew that they knew. Leia herself once theorized that if Poe had been on the other side, flying TIE Fighters for the First Order, the Resistance would have had no chance.

But a pilot is only as good as their body and mind allow them to be, and Poe Dameron had been running himself ragged in the month since Finn’s abduction. He’d been coaxing Resistance leadership into letting him fly on every possible mission, trying to get any information at all concerning Finn. He was down to about three hours of sleep a night. Sometimes, in the mess hall or during meetings, it looked like he wasn’t even sure where he was. One night, after he almost botched a routine landing during maneuvers, General Organa came to visit Poe in his room.

“Poe.” The way she said the one syllable told all. She was worried about him.

“Poe,” she said again. “You’re so incredibly lucky that Admiral Ackbar and I had your back after that stunt you pulled in the war room. But if you try anything like that again, disobey orders like that again, you will be grounded indefinitely. After what almost happened to you today...and that was just practice, the sort of thing you used to be able to do blindfolded in your sleep.” She paused. “How can I help you?”

Poe had taken to sleeping on Finn’s side of the bed, and he spoke to her from there as he sat, his flight gloves in his hands, staring down at nothing in particular.

“I just need to get out there. I need to find him, General,” he said. “I need to bring him home.”

Leia sat down next to Poe and spoke frankly.

“You won’t be any good to him whatsoever if you crash. If you keep on the way you are now, you’re going to get yourself killed. You know this.” She paused for a moment, then sighed heavily. “You know, believe it or not, I’ve been in a similar situation to where you are now.”

“I don’t see how,” Poe said.

“Surely you heard about what happened with Han? The carbonite?”

Poe nodded.

“I always thought that was a myth,” he said, embarrassed. “Or some kind of gross exaggeration.”

Leia shook her head.

“Vader handed him off to Boba Fett to drag off to Jabba the Hutt. It was a full year before we got him back. You know, he was temporarily blind when we got him out of the carbonite? I never told anyone this, but I was terrified that his sight would never return.”

Poe said nothing, and sat deathly still.

“What I’m saying,” Leia continued, “is I know exactly what it’s like to have the love of your life captured by the enemy, and the extremes you feel driven to in order to get him back. You can’t think of anything else. Being forced to do or handle anything else seems interminable. Almost like a spike is being driven through your heart. But you have to carry on, Poe, and do what you have to do. Other people are counting on you, and those people want to help you when it’s possible. But sometimes, in the lives we lead...you can’t do everything at once. It’s just not healthy, nor even possible.”

She stood and looked down at Poe.

“I’ll help. I’ll do whatever I can. We all will. It might be this week, it might be this month. Like me, you might find yourself waiting a year. But I swear to you, we’ll get Finn back. We’ll bring him back, whole and safe. But right now, watch out for yourself. You can’t take care of the others around you if you’re not caring for yourself.”

Poe didn’t know what to say to her, so he simply nodded.

She nodded back at him, still regal despite having abandoned the “Princess” title long ago. What was it Lor San Tekka had said to him on Jakku when Poe had called her “the General”?

“To me, she is royalty.”

The General left the room, and Poe watched her leave.

He remembered his reply, in that hut on Jakku, on a night that may as well have happened to someone else, thousands of years before.

“Well, she certainly is that.”

**********

**  
** Poe had tried hard to take General Organa’s advice to heart. He’d spent the last three days trying, against every instinct he had, to rest, relax, sleep. Eat the right amount of meals. Get back on some kind of normal schedule.

It didn’t take.

And so he found himself in the mess hall, night after night, playing sabacc with other pilots, embellishing stories of old victories for rookies, and drinking until he could almost forget Finn was gone.

It was on one such night, when Poe departed from his compatriots’ table to get another drink, that he overheard something that would stick with him for a very long time.

“It’s sad,” a pilot he’d known for years had said. “That kriffin’ stormtrooper, manipulating the Commander like that. Heard he went back to the First Order willingly, that this was a whole secret recon thing. The General’s trying to keep it quiet for morale.”

Poe tensed up. He felt rage rising inside him and grit his teeth as he tried to calm himself. Finn had saved the entire damn system from destruction. He’d risked his life for the Resistance. Listening to him be slandered by the very people he’d saved was like someone rubbing salt into a wound.

Luckily, they hadn’t noticed him, standing with his back to them, fists clenched at his sides. He knew he was on thin ice with his commanding officers. The last thing he needed to do was cause a scene.

And Poe wasn’t an idiot. He knew the more judgmental members of the Resistance would have insults ready to hurl at a moment’s notice if _anyone’s_ loyalty was in doubt. So of course they were going to be that much harsher with Finn.

Finn, the outsider. Finn, the unknown quantity. Finn, the newbie. Finn, the stormtrooper.

Poe waited for his drink. When it arrived, he stood at the bar, slowly sipping at it as he kept listening to the chatter behind him. He couldn’t help himself.

“I never trusted that guy,” one of the pilots said. “Especially when I saw the way he had the Commander wrapped around his finger like that.”

“More like his dick,” another pilot said. The surrounding pilots sniggered. 

Poe slammed his drink down on the bar, silence rippling out from the bottom of his glass, enveloping the entire room. 

All eyes were suddenly on him.

Poe turned around, slowly, to look at the pilot who had made the last comment.

Staring him dead in the eyes, everyone in the mess watching, Poe pointed at him.

“You. Outside. Now.”

The other pilot, trembling in his boots, shook his head. He looked horrified.

“I’m sorry, Commander. I didn’t know you were there.” His thin blond hair couldn’t hide the instant nervous sweat that dripped from his head. “I -- I didn’t mean it. I don’t want to fight y--” 

“That was an order, Lieutenant. I give you kriffin’ orders, and you kriffin’ listen.”

The intimidated pilot stood, slowly, shaking as he did so.

“S--S--Sir,” he stammered, his peers staring at him, all grateful not to be in his shoes. “I--I’m so -- I didn’t mean to --”

“You gonna head outside, Tremors,” Poe asked, mockingly, “or are we gonna have to do this here in front of everyone? It’s up to you.”

The pilot, still trembling, bowed his head and walked out of the mess hall.

Poe watched him leave, then turned back to the other men who the intimidated pilot had been speaking with, throwing them a threatening glare.

He spoke to them in a cold, menacing way that was just wild and out of character enough to keep everyone in scared silence.

“Any more talk like that -- about current or former Resistance fighters, and about any of our leadership, the General especially -- I will make sure you are court-martialed and imprisoned, and you will spend the rest of your life wishing that Kylo Ren would just come up behind you and stab you through the back of the head, ending all the pain I will personally put you through. And that’s just the emotional pain. Is that clear?”

Those who could manage to react merely nodded without blinking.

Poe turned and began to leave, but almost immediately turned back.

“Oh,” he said, addressing the same group of rabble-rousers, as well as everyone else in the mess. “A word of this to anyone -- _anyone_ \-- and I’ll have your flight clearance. Understand?”

The bartender -- a young, nervous new recruit Poe didn’t recognize -- dropped the glass she was cleaning. He heard it shatter as he walked out. 

******

Poe met the nervous pilot outside, walking up to the man from behind. The man who had been so effortlessly trash-talking a kidnapped Resistance fighter mere moments earlier was trembling with fear.

“You coward,” Poe said as he approached the man. He jumped as soon as Poe spoke.

“Shaking like that after you spouted such venomous shit,” Poe continued. “You don’t deserve to fly an X-Wing. You don’t deserve to fight this war, Tremors.”

“Sir, I -- I didn’t mean -- I didn’t think that --”

“No,” Poe said, circling him, unblinking, angry, fire in his mind, indignation in his chest. “You didn’t think. You _don’t_ think, Tremors. That’s your problem.”

“Sir, please, my name is --”

Poe stopped walking around the man, locking eyes.

“I don’t give a lick what your name is, Tremors,” he said, his right hand curling into a fist. “You and your pals were disrespecting a good man in there. A good man who isn’t here to defend himself." 

“Wi--wi--with all due respect, sir--” the man began.

“Oh, the respect ship took off ten minutes ago, when you opened your mouth. Or didn’t you hear the engines? I heard them pretty clearly. They sounded like lies. Like slander. And you were piloting it.”

The moment Poe finished his sentence, he slammed his fist into the pilot’s face, causing the man to fall back and hit the ground hard, his nose bleeding from the punch.

Poe glared down at him.

“You know, Tremors...if Finn hadn’t been there to save all of our asses on Starkiller Base, you and all your friends in there would be dead right now. You know that, right? You stop to think of that at all before runnin’ your mouth?”

He stared up at Poe, face bloodied and eyes unfocused, his mouth opening and closing as he helplessly tried to form a response.

Poe cupped his ear and cocked his head, leaning forward.

“What’s that?” Poe asked, mockingly. “Loth-cat got your tongue?”

He straightened up, still looking at the man below him, who seemed to be in shock.

“Consider this a warning shot, Tremors,” Poe continued. “You or your friends speak out against Finn, or the General, or anyone else who’d gladly take a kriffin’ blast to the face for your sorry ass, and we won’t be having a conversation. No, I expect it’d be a lot less civil. Do you understand me?”

The man looked up from the ground, nodding slowly.

“I’m glad we see eye to eye,” Poe said. “I’m gonna go back inside now. You take your time. Rest up. You look like shit, man." 

******

Hours later, and once again Poe was up late, unable to sleep, staring at the ceiling. Memories of all the nights he and Finn would lie in the field outside of the base, staring up at the stars, ran through his head.

He replayed Finn’s smile, over and over and over, afraid he might forget a detail. Afraid the memories might fade.

He entertained talking to Doctor Kalonia or Doctor Tempfos about his sleep issues, but he was in no mood to try different pills or herbal remedies. Most importantly, he didn’t want to risk being grounded again for psychological reasons. He had to get back out there. He had to find Finn, had to bring him home. He had to get back in the cockpit and do what he was born to do it. He had to keep going, keep breathing, because even though another day without Finn had just passed by, the next day could surely bring him home.

It had to bring him home.

It just _had_ to.

He was going to see that smile again.

 ********** ****

It’d been two weeks since the incident outside the mess hall. Two weeks of watching other pilots look at him in a slightly different way. They weren’t taking his orders enthusiastically, or cheerfully smiling at him in the hallway the way they used to. Most of them avoided eye contact with him when possible. They still stood in salute when he entered a room, but it was clear to him that it was only because they felt they _had_ to.

No, his subordinates -- most of them, anyway -- didn’t _respect_ him, at least in the way they used to. They had begun to _fear_ him. Even the few new recruits that had shown up since Finn’s abduction feared him. None of them had met the real Poe Dameron, the Poe was known as the Resistance’s best, as a Commander and pilot who inspired loyalty and bravery.

It was a small base with an even smaller army, and nobody had directly witnessed Poe’s confrontation with the other pilot, but people talked and rumors spread. A broken nose was hard to hide. Given that he hadn’t been met with any disciplinary action, Poe assumed that the Resistance leadership hadn’t heard whatever the rank-and-file had been saying, and if they had, dismissed it outright as ridiculous. Leia and Ackbar especially knew how much staying on-duty meant to Poe, and wouldn’t dream of dismissing him on hearsay, even temporarily. So as far as Poe and the Resistance leadership were concerned, everything was business as usual.

Sometimes he caught himself wondering what people like Tremors or the bartender were saying about him. Sometimes he even toyed with imagining how Snap or Pava responded to such accusations. He had no idea if they’d heard anything, and if they had, how close to the truth it was. He liked to think that they hadn’t heard anything, and if they had, they’d dismissed it outright. They knew him better than almost anyone. They’d know pure rumors when they heard them, right?

Poe hoped they would, anyway. He had faith in them, even if he had none in himself. He knew they wouldn’t be scared of him, even though he was scared of himself.

It’d been two weeks since the incident outside the mess hall, and now he found himself drinking gin with Snap in a barroom on Murkhana. They were there along with a few other pilots and soldiers, all spread throughout Murkhana City. General Organa had been informed by an old ally, no longer a part of the Resistance, that there was a crime lord in Murkhana City who would be willing to sell  important information about the First Order...for a price, of course, and only to the highest bidder. Leia acknowledged that this may very well be a trap -- she knew fear in her old ally’s voice when she heard it -- but she was willing to take the chance.

“Any information that could lead to victory against the First Order,” she had said, “is worth any risk we might come across. That’s why we’re all here.”

Poe had winced when she said that. She’d said something similar to Statura when Finn had first brought what would eventually become the Elom mission to them. He remembered having a bad feeling then, but now Poe barely felt anything. This new mission gave him something to do, something to drink, and a chance to catch up with Snap like nothing was wrong, like everything was fine. They hadn’t had a chance to chat much, since Poe had mostly self-isolated after his last night in the mess, but being forced to leave base and go on missions...that was the reason he woke up every morning. The Resistance still meant something to him, that much was certain, but every single day that passed, a part of his love for the Resistance was replaced with his obsessive desire to bring Finn home. If fulfilling that obsession meant that Poe had to topple the entire First Order by himself and bring Snoke’s head to the General on a silver kriffing platter first, he’d do it, no matter what it took.

Snap mostly tap-danced around what was on his mind as he and Poe kept an eye out for a Zabrak named Flanna, the right-hand woman of the Cerean crime lord Car-Bun Kezz-Larr and, according to Leia’s source, a frequent patron of the bar they found themselves in. While they waited for Flanna to appear, and while others scoured the city for Kezz-Larr, Snap took stock of Poe for the first time in a long time.

He noticed the baggy skin under the Commander’s eyes, and the dark circles that punctuated them. His bloodshot eyes revealed nights wracked with insomnia and anxiety. His slouching posture, scruffy beard, and unkempt hair betrayed a total lack of self care.

Snap had served with enough traumatized pilots to know how to approach the situation.

He took his glass to his lips and downed a gulp or two, then looked Poe in the eyes.

“We don’t get to talk much these days, do we, Poe?”

Poe shook his head. “I get up,” he said, “I hit the air, I run the mission, I get out, I come back, I sleep.”

“Not every day, though,” Snap said.

Poe looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.

“No,” Poe said. “Not every day.” 

“I won’t press it,” Snap said, taking another sip of his drink. “But if you ever need to talk...about anything, it doesn’t matter what...you can come to me. You know that, right?”

Poe chewed the inside of his cheek, nodding. “I know, Snap, I do. I just --”

Suddenly, Poe stopped talking, glancing behind the other pilot.

Snap looked at him quizzically. Poe merely moved his head upwards quickly, his chin pointing just beyond Snap’s shoulder.

“That her?” Poe asked, as Snap subtly turned his head to look at a female Zabrak who had just entered the bar, being checked by the bouncer for weapons in her oversized trenchcoat. Snap turned his head back to Poe and nodded.

Poe could tell that Flanna was not the sort of person to be trifled with, as it became clear that the bouncer was merely following protocol and had no intention of confiscating any of the blasters, knives, or other assorted weapons she kept in her large coat. She probably hadn’t worked her way up the ranks of Kezz-Larr’s organization; no, one look at her and Poe could tell she’d murdered her way to the top.

He swallowed anxiously.

It had taken Poe a long time to reach this point -- after Elom and Finn; after barely beginning to process what happened on that icy world; after his meetings with Doctor Tempfors and his talk with General Organa; after the holorecording of the stormtrooper JB-007; after his run-in with Tremors; after nearly crashing during routine maneuvers -- but it finally dawned on him just how _tired_ he was.

Poe hoped everything went smoothly, because he didn’t want to fight. He didn’t know if he could. Sure, if his blood boiled again, or if his adrenalized fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, he’d be able to, but the scope of his exhaustion was just telling him _no_. It was telling him to go home. To go to bed. To normalize his sleep cycle. To eat like a normal person. To take care of himself. To grieve properly. To cry.

But Poe was in the middle of a mission, and he’d have to worry about all that when he got back to D’Qar.

In the meantime, he had to signal to Flanna.

He raised his glass in her direction, catching her eye. She pushed the bouncer off of her roughly, then made her way over to the small table where Poe and Snap were sitting.

She pulled out a chair and sat between the two of them. Flanna, both men quickly realized, was menacing, yes, but also radiated dignity, grace, and intelligence. She had street smarts and book smarts, and if she had to kill someone in a room full of people from dozens of worlds, she’d do it in such a way that the people sitting on either side of her victim wouldn’t notice.

She looked at each of the men, correctly identifying them.

“Wexley,” she said, quietly, before turning her head to Poe. “Dameron.”

Both men nodded silently.

“You’re here for information on the First Order, yes?” Flanna asked.

“We were told by one of our leaders that your boss is willing to sell us information on the Order,” Snap said. “Things no one else knows.”

Flanna nodded. “For a price,” she said, looking at the nearest roving server, snapping at him and sending him scurrying for what no doubt was her usual.

“What kind of price?” Snap asked.

“That depends,” Flanna said, “on what sort of information you’re looking for.”

“Look, lady,” Poe said, “don’t play games with us. Give us something to go on or we all go home unhappy.”

“‘Unhappy’?” Flanna asked. “I’m afraid I don’t take your meaning, Commander.”

Poe looked at her dumbfounded.

“You know, my mother served in the Rebellion against the Empire,” Flanna said. “A fascinating woman, really. She never gave up or gave in no matter what the circumstances. But I never understood why people praised her for that so much. I couldn’t...connect with it, understand why someone would laud things like ‘bravery’ or ‘courage’ or ‘fearlessness’. I never felt ‘compassion’ or ‘pride’ or ‘love’. I only understood pragmatism. Power. Strength. Brute force.”

The server returned, trembling, as Flanna took her drink from him without even looking him in the eye and downed half of it in one gulp.

“Do you know why that is, Commander Dameron?" 

Poe shook his head.

“No,” he said. “No, I don’t.”

“Because during the Battle of Endor, a stormtrooper attacked my mother. Both lacked weapons. He had armor. She...did not. They engaged in battle for around five minutes, the way my mother tells it. His winning blow came when his armored fist punched her square in the stomach. She was three months pregnant. The doctors say that punch should have done more than damage parts of my cerebral function. The parts that control the chemical reactions you call ‘feelings’. ‘Emotions’. They said, physically, that I was lucky to have survived at all. My mother has always felt things profoundly. I never have. So when you discuss the chance that the three of us will leave this establishment ‘unhappy’, Commander Dameron, please understand that I have no reference point, no way to relate to you. Do I make myself clear?”

Poe nodded, leaning back in his seat a bit more.

“Clearer than a Kyber crystal,” he said.

“So...tell me what it is that you want, Commander.”

“I think what the Commander is asking for,” Snap interjected, “is a gesture of good faith. A show of trust. If you can give us some of this information that your boss is somehow privy to, it would show us that your organization is willing to work with us. For a price, yes, but still.”

“Interesting,” Flanna said, contemplating. “Alright then.”

She reached into her coat. Snap and Poe both flinched for a moment, but were able to breathe a sigh of relief when all that Flanna removed from it was a slip of paper.

She handed it to Snap.

“I believe this is the sort of information you’re looking for, Major Wexley.”

He cautiously, slowly, took the paper from Flanna, unfolded it and read it to himself.

Snap went pale. Poe looked at him, concerned.

Snap could only nod.

After a moment, he told Poe.

“This is legit. We can trust her.”

“What did it say, Snap?” Poe asked, frightened, yet also a little angry.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Snap said. “For now--”

“For now, what?” Poe asked. “Was it about Finn?”

“Poe, now is not the time to--”

“I don’t give a shit about the time, all I care about is--”

Poe stopped. He realized he was standing upright, looking down at the still-sitting Snap and Flanna, and that the entire bar was staring at him in the same way that the pilots in the mess hall had stared at him the night he’d punched Tremors in the face. 

He collected himself, looking sad and apologetic. He tugged on his shirt, sitting down as everyone else in the bar went back to their business and noise resumed around them.

“It’s not about Finn,” Snap said, visibly exasperated. “But it _is_...sensitive information. Sensitive to both sides. We’ll talk about it later.”

“Alright,” Poe said, reluctantly, only out of necessity.

“So,” Snap asked. “When can we meet your boss?”

“You misunderstand,” Flanna said. “Car-Bun Kezz-Larr is no longer among the living. I run things in Murkhana City now.”

“But...we were just talking about him a moment ago,” Poe said. “You didn’t tell us that then.”

Flanna took a sip from her her glass and frankly answered Poe.

“That’s because Kezz-Larr was still alive then.”

“I don’t understand,” Poe said.

“What’s not to understand?” Flanna asked. “I had his death ordered. It was carried out two minutes ago. I am not the medium anymore. Now, little mice, let us discuss the price.”

“You just had your boss, a man who thought of you as his second in command, murdered,” Poe said. “You’re going to have to give us a better reason to trust you than just some jerbwat scribblings on a piece of paper.”

“Poe, calm down,” Snap said. “Worry about this later. The information she’s offering --”

“Listen to your friend,” Flanna said. “He has the right idea. And besides,” she continued, resting her right foot on her left knee, “you’ve seen how I treat trusted friends. You are now faced with a choice. Risk your life, deal with me, and maybe win the war against the First Order. Or, on the other hand, you don’t take a chance, and you and your loved ones will almost certainly be on Supreme Leader Snoke’s chopping block within a year, maybe two at most.” 

“Poe,” Snap pleaded. “She’s legitimate. This information, if it’s truly just the start --”

“No,” Poe said firmly. “You wanna gain the galaxy and lose your soul, Wexley, that’s fine with me, but I don’t make deals with killers.”

“Commander Dameron, your comrade makes a compelling argument,” Flanna said. “But your...obtuse viewpoints...your black and white morality--”

“Nothing’s ever just black and white,” Poe said.

“You’re right,” Flanna said. “There’s no right or wrong in the grand scheme of things, merely the prevailing viewpoints and opinions of the largest body of the populace.”

She paused to finished her drink, slowly, before setting the empty glass down in front of her.

“That said, Commander Dameron,” she continued, uncrossing her legs. “You seem to have made up your mind not just for yourself and Captain Wexley, but for your entire Resistance as well. I must wish you luck.”

With the intensity of a Sith Lord yet with the regality of General Organa, Flanna rose, dismissing herself from the two men and, without even looking at them, turned around and began to walk towards the way she came.

A moment passed as Poe watched her leave.

“You made a huge mistake, Poe,” Snap said, angrily. “She could have been a powerful ally.”

“She’s a murderer,” Poe said. “Do you really want an ally like that?”

“Strange bedfellows,” Snap said, wanting to tell Poe that he should know that better than anyone, but holding his tongue. He had to remind himself that he knew, deep down, that all of the other pilots’ trash talk about Finn was just that, and that Finn was nothing if not a good man.

“Was the information about --” Poe began, but Snap cut him off.

“No, I told you,” Snap said, “but it was...look, we’re lucky she didn’t charge us for it, whatever her ‘price’ -- Poe?”

Poe had stopped listening, had gotten up, and was heading towards the door. Was he following Flanna, Snap wondered? No, Poe knew better than that. Snap moved his gaze toward the door and was not surprised by what he found. Walking by the door, in formation, were three First Order stormtroopers. Poe was making a beeline towards them.

“Poe! What are you doing?” he hissed, as quietly as possibly to avoid drawing attention.

Poe briefly turned back, whisper-yelled “Just going to talk to one of ‘em!”, and began to walk back towards the door.

Snap cursed under his breath and stood up to follow. It was difficult to maneuver the crowd, and Snap wondered how Poe did it with such swiftness and aplomb.

Snap got to the door just in time to see Poe wrap his arm around the neck of one of the stormtroopers who had lagged behind and grab his blaster with his other hand. Poe whispered something to the stormtrooper, eyes darting around wildly to make sure they went unnoticed. The stormtrooper nodded as the other two went off without him, not noticing his absence as they kept their watch a little too intently.

Poe, with great speed, pulled the stormtrooper into a nearby alley across the street. Snap ran as fast as he could to catch up with him, to stop Poe from acting like a maniac, from doing...whatever the hell he planned to do, but a caravan of vehicles, creatures, and pedestrians began to block his way.

Snap tried to push his way through, but a mounted Bantha stopped right in front of the alley to catch its breath for a moment. Snap was unable to see Poe or the stormtrooper. Worry began to consume him like a plague.

******

Across the street, in the shadow of the small back alley, Poe had pinned the stormtrooper against a wall with his dominant arm. The trooper’s blaster was on the ground, out of reach behind them.

“You even think of tryin’ to contact your buddies,” Poe said, “and you’ll find my threat’s still good.”

“You’re going to regret this,” the stormtrooper said, struggling to breathe with Poe’s arm on his throat. “There’s no way you’ll make it out of--”

“Shut up. Let me see the man who I’m talkin’ to. Let me see your kriffin’ eyes.”

Poe didn’t recognize the voice, but that didn’t mean anything. Did it?

He dropped his arm, leaving the stormtrooper gasping for air.

The stormtrooper, back still against the wall, straightened up and raised his hands to his helmet.

Poe’s heart stopped.

 _Please_ , he thought. _Please. Please. End this nightmare. Please._

The man put his hands on each side of his helmet and removed it. Poe’s heart stopped.

The unfamiliar voice, as he feared, belonged to an unfamiliar face. Older by about eight years, maybe more. Light green eyes that reflected in the mid-day Murkhana sunlight. A skintone so pale that he would have burned up in the sunlight without his armor. His hair, strawberry blonde, was as unfamiliar as the rest of him.

Poe felt desperate tears threatening to fall, but held them back.

“What’s your designation, you piece of garbage?” he growled. “I need to know who I’m talking to." 

“AH-1072,” the stormtrooper said. “Routine patrol of unaligned planets.”

“Who do you report to?” Poe asked, rage in his voice.

“Captain Heinrichs of the First Order, who reports directly to Captain Phasma.” The stormtrooper paused, smiling. “You must be Poe Dameron. You were hoping I was your pet, FN-2187.”

Poe gritted his teeth.

“He’s a person, you scumbag, and his name is Finn!”

He pushed the trooper back against the wall roughly, pinning him with his left arm this time, shocking him as the man’s head slammed against the brick wall. Poe raised his fist to him, his eyes crazed and unblinking, bloodshot from exhaustion.

“Now,” Poe asked. “Tell me where he is.”

“I don’t know,” he responded bitterly. “And I wouldn’t tell you if I did.” 

“You’re a liar!” Poe screamed, punching him the face with his free hand. “Tell me what they’ve done with him!”

He spat blood at Poe, who didn’t even flinch.

“I said ‘tell me what you’ve done with him’, and you’re gonna!” he screamed, slugging the man again.

“I don’t know anything!” the man said, now bleeding from his nose. “I’ve never even met him, haven’t even seen him. I have no idea where they’ve got him or what they’re doing to him!”

“Don’t lie to me, you sack of crap!” Poe yelled, shaking him violently. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know!” the stormtrooper wailed in pain. “Let me go! I don’t know anything! I don’t even know if he’s still alive! _Please_! I know as much as you do!”

“ _Tell me!_ ” Poe screamed, trembling with rage, punching the man on the right side of his face again, blood spraying out of the stormtrooper’s mouth. AH-1072 felt a tooth or two loosening. “Just _tell me_ ! _Tell me and you get to go home, okay_ ? _Just tell me_!” 

“ _I don’t know, okay_ ?” AH-1072 screamed. “ _I don’t know!_ ”

“Please tell me!” Poe begged. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been crying, but tears were streaming down his cheeks. “Please. Just...please...I need to know...Is he...is he alive?”

He let go of the stormtrooper, who sunk against the wall, breathing heavily, his face bleeding and puffy.

“Please..” Poe pleaded, falling to his knees in front of the fallen stormtrooper. “Just...just tell me where…”

“I...don’t know…” the stormtrooper said, over and over. “Don’t...don’t know…”

Poe, staring down despondently at his own bloody knuckles, still asked.

“Please... _please_ just tell me…”

Suddenly, a shadow was cast over the both of them.

AH-1072 looked up at Snap Wexley and began to tremble, fearful for his life.

To his surprise, Snap looked upon him almost with pity before casting his gaze at Poe Dameron.

“Poe...what have you done? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Poe seemed to not even notice Snap was there, or, at the very least, was ignoring his presence.

“Just...please, please tell me...I can’t...please tell me...I can’t...not without him...please…”

Poe crumpled, his shoulders falling, his head dropping.

AH-1072 finally allowed himself to pass out.

Snap squatted down next to Poe and put his hand on his shoulder.

“Poe, Poe look at me,” he said. “We have to go.”

Poe struggled to not face him, to not look his old friend in the eye, to not accept the truth that had begun rattling through his brain.

Snap squeezed his shoulder.

“Poe. Come back, buddy. We have to get out of here.”

Poe sniffled a little bit, holding back another round of tears.

“Sn--Snap. Snap.” he said.

“Come on, we gotta get you out of here. People are gonna be looking for this guy soon.”

“Snap.” he repeated dejectedly.

“What is it, Poe?” The pilot’s eyes darted around, on the lookout for both friendlies and hostiles, his hand still on Poe.

He looked up at Snap and began to cry.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

The enormity of the statement didn’t dawn on Snap right away.

“What, this guy?” he asked, indicating the stormtrooper. “He’s...kinda messed up, I’m not gonna lie, but he’ll probably --”

Poe interrupted him, commanding Snap’s attention with his eyes.

“I don’t care about _him_.” 

Snap shook his head.

“Poe, we can’t -- we gotta get you out of here, man --”

“Just...just…”

He paused, his lip quivering, still staring at Snap. 

“Finn’s dead, isn’t he?"

Snap didn’t know what to say, what to do, how to comfort him. A dead, frightening calm dropped into the air as Poe finally said aloud what so many others, even Snap himself, had been thinking.

So he didn’t say anything to Poe.

Snap gathered up his friend, supporting him on his shoulder as he would an intoxicated man. He planned to explain to any law enforcement -- or mobsters, really -- on the way to their ship that he was just helping a drunk friend home. He rehearsed the speech in his head.

After Poe had rested up, maybe in a day or two, Snap would talk to his friend. It wouldn’t be an easy talk, or even one he even wanted to have. He had no idea what he was going to say. He hoped he’d have a better idea by then. But in the moment, all that mattered was getting everyone back to D’Qar in one piece as soon as possible.

As soon as he’d gotten Poe to the med bay of their ship and made the call to the other Resistance members in Murkhana City, Snap buried his head in his hands.

It was going to be a long trip home.

 ********** ****

“Wake up.”

A familiar voice filtered through the haze of Finn’s unconsciousness. He wanted to crawl back into his mind, to pretend he hadn’t heard. If he didn’t wake up, perhaps he’d be left alone. Perhaps the voice would leave. Perhaps, if he waited long enough, if he was able to sleep again, it would never have been there to start with.

When he didn’t react, a hand, gloved and clad in cold, hard metal, collided with his face. Finn tasted his own blood.

He’d grown accustomed to the taste of iron rolling around in his mouth. It had gotten to a point where he didn’t mind it; in fact, he barely noticed it now.

“Wake up,” the voice repeated.

He opened his eyes to find Captain Phasma, helmetless, standing over him. Rodinon was standing several feet away, stiff, with both hands behind his back.

Rodinon was nervous. Finn could tell. They’d gotten to know each other’s tics and mannerisms very well of late, even if neither man cared to admit it.

“FN-2187,” Captain Phasma said, towering over him. “So glad you could join us.”

She smiled down at him, almost kindly, and Finn felt his stomach churn. His gut instinct was to cry out for Poe.

He didn’t. He had learned better.

"You know,” she said, still smiling at him. “I clearly remember ordering you to reconditioning eight and a half months ago. Though...what’s the expression? ‘Better late than never, I suppose.’”

“What do you want with me?” Finn asked. “I woulda thought that the high and mighty Captain Phasma would have more important things to do than contribute to a half-assed operation like this.”

“Oh, please,” Captain Phasma said. “FN-2187, you know me much better than that. I came to see how you were doing.”

Phasma pulled up a chair to the upright table that Finn was shackled to. She turned the chair backwards and sat in it, crossing her arms and resting them at the top of the chair.

“I’ve also come to remind you of a few things. But first, I have a few questions.”

Finn, still in pain, stared coldly at her.

“Find your answers somewhere else. I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“Not even about Poe Dameron?”

Finn’s heart began to race.

“What about him?” he asked weakly.

“You really let that pilot use you and just...throw you out like an old toy, didn’t you? Do you really have so little self-respect, FN-2187? Or did you truly believe he cared for you?”

Finn, full of anger and adrenaline, began to fight the shackles, throwing his body towards Phasma, screaming at her.

“Ah,” she said. “So you do have something to say,” she added, laughing just a little bit.

She looked over at Rodinon as she grinned, and he forced himself to share a smile with her.

“You know,” she continued, turning her gaze back to Finn, “He left you there. They all did. On purpose, I imagine. That’s how he is. That’s how they all are. These...Resistance fighters. They use you until there’s nothing left. Chew you up and spit you out like old rations. Discard you like yesterday’s droids. They don’t know how to love, not in the true sense of the word. They’re not a family, FN-2187. Not like we are. Not like the First Order.”

Phasma’s words lit Finn on fire, but still he laughed in her face.

His laugh turned into a cackle.

“I’m not FN-2187. Not anymore.” he said, “My name is Finn. And none of that is true. He loved me and I loved him. What we had was real. And the Resistance...the Resistance is full of more good people than you’ve ever known in your life, Phasma.”

Phasma stood quickly, knocking the chair over.

She slapped Finn again, hard.

Finn felt a molar dislodge. He spat it out at her in disgust.

The tooth hit Phasma’s perfectly clean visage, bloodying it, and Finn felt like he was spitting in the face of the First Order itself. Like he was spitting on all their lies, all their hatred, their anger, their vitriol.

Phasma recomposed herself, wiping the blood off her face.

She looked toward the ground, finding Finn’s tooth. She then looked him straight in the eyes as she crushed it underfoot.

“This is the part where I remind you of a few things,” she said as her eyes, almost manic, bore into him.

“Like what?” Finn spat at her.

“Like what? I’m in charge, FN-2187. _I’m_ in charge.”

Rodinon, uncomfortable and disquieted, looked down, then quickly gazed back at Finn and Phasma before finding the perfect vacant spot on the wall to focus his attention on. He anxiously pulled at his collar.

Phasma maintained her fixed gaze on Finn.

“Lieutenant,” she ordered. “Scalpel.”

Rodinon, confused, looked towards her. “Captain, forgive me, but it was my understanding that I would be fully in charge of overseeing the prisoner’s …reconditioning.”

For what seemed like ages, Rodinon looked from Phasma to Finn and back again, anxiously awaiting an answer, or for something, anything to happen.

Phasma, not breaking her gaze from Finn, merely reached backwards toward Rodinon and reiterated her prior statement. “Get me a scalpel,” she said, crossly. “That’s an order.”

“Yes, Captain,” he responded through gritted teeth. He disappeared from Finn’s field of vision, returning a moment later with a surgical knife in hand. Phasma removed her gloves and placed them on the adjacent table, beside her helmet.

Phasma took the scalpel from Rodinon and used it to cut what was left of Finn’s shirt down the middle. The burn marks from Rodinon’s taser had done a number on Finn’s clothes, and his skin was significantly burned from where the baton had met Finn’s body.

Phasma looked at Finn’s torso, as if considering her options.

“What -- what are you doing?” Finn asked. He tried to hide the fear in his voice, to no avail.

Phasma, scalpel in hand, put her free hand on his neck to hold him still against the metal table.

“Reminding you who’s in charge,” she said as the scalpel met the flesh of his chest.

As Finn screamed louder than he had ever thought possible, even Rodinon cringed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To our readers, fans, friends and fellow Stormpilot aficionados, 
> 
> I would like to offer my most sincere apologies for the delay in posting our seventh chapter. The delay is my fault and mine alone. Due to my various anxiety disorders, I’m not used to working anything past 30 hour work weeks, and recently I’ve found myself on the other end of fifty hour work weeks with no warning and barely any time to write, let alone sleep or engage in other forms of self-care. Despite this, I’ve been plugging away every single day, and now that my work hours will return to normal this week, chapters will be posted with far more regularity. It was not my intent to lose or alienate any of you, and from now on, I swear to (insert deity, celebrity or abstract concept of your choice here) that we’ll be back up and running, pumping out chapters so quickly your heads will spin. Thank you for sticking with us and not forgetting about us. It means the world to me, and I’m certain to my writing partner as well.
> 
> Thank you for your patience. You will not be disappointed.
> 
> Sincerely, and with great thanks,
> 
> Ziggy_Quill_Blackstarlord
> 
>  
> 
> Finals are over for me this week! I hope everyone is surviving the end of the semester. The next chapter should be up by this weekend!
> 
> -mooyani


	8. Short Hiatus

Hey friends,

I regret to inform you that, due to some unforeseen life circumstances, Conquest of Spaces will be on hiatus for another three weeks or so. However, we’re several chapters ahead of the game, and when we return, it’ll be in full force with chapters posted so quickly and so frequently your heads will spin and take off into orbit.

Thank you for sticking with us, and for your patience.

Lots of love, and may the force be with you.

Best,

mooyani & Ziggy_Quill_Blackstarlord

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Conquest Of Spaces" by Woodkid
> 
> We will be aiming to post a new chapter at least once a week, so stay tuned.


End file.
